


Fourteen Thousand Galleons

by Frumpologist



Series: Fourteen Thousand Galleons-Verse [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Bisexuality, Canon-Typical Violence, Domesticity, Emotional Manipulation, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Exploration of Magic, F/M, HEA, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, M/M, Manipulative Ron, Multi, Polyamory, Post War, Sexual Content, Slow Burn, Soul Bond, Threesome - F/M/M, Triad - Freeform, past emotional abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-19
Updated: 2019-03-03
Packaged: 2019-08-25 23:34:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 28
Words: 110,611
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16670512
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Frumpologist/pseuds/Frumpologist
Summary: After the War, there is a boom of marriage and divorce. Hermione finds herself among the statistics of war heroes who couldn’t save their marriages. When she receives the invoice from her solicitor, she has no choice but to answer an ad in The Daily Prophet: Malfoy Heir Seeking Nanny.But, everything is not quite what it seems as Hermione navigates the waters of post-divorce life.





	1. Just Like That

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome to my first triad story! Warning: the triad is a slow burn, and I reserve the right to add additional tags as the story progresses. :) I’m a few chapters ahead, so expect weekly updates! Subscribe, bookmarks, kudos, and comments are very appreciated. <3

Fourteen thousand galleons. 

The number glares at her, taunts her. Her fingers glide over the various line items: copies, court filing, divorce proceedings. Her heart clenches and tears spring to her eyes. How ever is she going to pay these fees? Her solicitor won a clean separation, no debt that her ex husband racked up would be hers, and she won custody of her two children, but this is the price. A costly service for peace of mind.

In the seven years since the final battle at Hogwarts, she’s been married, given birth to two children, and divorced. The Ministry is calling it a fallout; so many young people married and rushed into adulthood following the war, so pleased to have survived. Now, though, families are falling apart because the anxieties of post-war Britain are melting away. 

She’s cold as she sips her tea in fuzzy pyjamas and a thick, gray sweater. The bun atop her head is falling apart leaving curls to fall haphazardly around her neck. She doesn’t even care how bedraggled she looks. Long gone are the days where she’s innocently put together every second of the day and she’s perfectly comfortable with no makeup on her face and wearing mismatched underwear. 

But, cor, fourteen thousand galleons. 

Her wages at the ministry aren’t enough to make the ghastly monthly payment option, and yet she makes far too much to qualify for assistance from the ministry welfare division. She’s completely and utterly buggered. 

“Mummy.” A squeaky little voice interrupts her worry and she pulls her lips from between her teeth to mask the concern there. 

“Hugo, my lamb, what are you doing out of bed?” Hermione smooths the notch between her brows and pushes the solicitor’s statement out of her sight. “It’s half eleven, darling. Have you had another bad dream?”

Hugo looks exactly like his father. He’s ginger with the wide blue eyes and freckles beginning to dust his nose. But when she looks at him, she sees herself, too. The curious glances when someone gives him new information, the scrunch of his eyebrows when he’s trying to solve a puzzle, and while his hair is a brilliant shade of red, it’s a curly mop around his ears. 

Her youngest child sniffles and wipes at his eyes. “Yes. There was a dragon and it stole my galleons.”

Hermione smiles despite his deep frown and holds her arms out to him. He jumps into her arms with his blanket and snuggles into her warmth.

“Dragons don’t steal galleons,” she tells him lightly and smooths his hair down. “Has mummy ever told you the story of the dragons that guard Gringott’s?”

Hugo nods and wipes at his eyes. “They protect the galleons, mummy.”

“And do you think that the dragon in your dream could be a Gringott’s dragon?” She pulls back and smiles down at her son. He scrunches his face as he thinks. 

“Maybe he thought  _ I  _ stole his galleons?” 

“Perhaps, lamb.”

“You sound sad, mummy.” His big, blue eyes meet hers and she schools her expression into an exaggerated, happy face. 

“Oh no, Hugo, mummy is very happy,” she lies in false cheerful tones. “I’ve got you and Rosie. What else could I possibly need?”

He sighs and smiles as his eyes begin to droop. Hermione’s gaze falls on the note from the solicitor. Fourteen thousand galleons. Due upon receipt. Hermione takes a deep breath and rubs her son’s back as she tries to think of any possible way she can make enough money to pay the solicitor. 

As her son’s breathing slows, she gently lifts him and puts him back to bed. The poor thing hasn’t been sleeping well since his father left, quite the upset for the little boy who idolizes his father. Hermione promised Ron that she’d never keep the kids from him, but it’s the hardest balance for her to keep: what Ron has done to her versus how good he is as a father. She’d never be able to reconcile the gentle father with the furious husband. 

She kisses Hugo on the forehead and makes sure his blanket is pulled over his body. She peeks in on Rose before she walks down the hallway and sits at her table again. The invoice nags at her and she takes another sip of her tea. 

Buggered, that’s what she is. 

She pushes the invoice out of sight and pulls The Daily Prophet closer. It’s quite a boring paper now that the war is over and peace has fallen on Britain. There’s no whispers of darkness and the world is starting to repair itself. There are other things now, rebuilding and rebranding things in the Wizarding World to reflect the new, tolerant Ministry. 

Her eyes rove over the various headlines. 

_ 450th Quidditch World Cup Confirmed for Germany _

_ Hogwarts Set to Open Doors 1 September 2005.  _

_ Malfoy Heiress Dies, Age 24. _

She pauses there. The Malfoys are a quiet comfort to Britain after the war. They donate, the roll their sleeves up and help to rebuild. Hermione doesn’t care for them, given all of the history, but learning of Astoria’s death makes her tear up. Their poor son, Scorpius, to be without his mother so young - Rosie’s age. She couldn’t imagine. 

Her eyes skim the page. 

_ Astoria Malfoy, née Greengrass, fell victim to her long held blood curse this past Monday and leaves behind her husband, Draco, and their son, Scorpius. The Malfoys were unavailable for comment, but those closest to them have told the Prophet that she has taken ill soon after the Malfoy Heir was born. News of the illness caused a rift between the young Malfoys and rumor has it, they filed for separation. Court proceedings for Magical annulment lasted a year, but Mrs. Malfoy continued to live in Malfoy Manor so that she could spend as much time as possible with her son before her death.  _

_ Funeral arrangements for Mrs. Malfoy to take place -  _

She’s been so far removed from the news that she’d entirely missed the part where Draco Malfoy, of all people, had gotten a divorce. Lucius must be livid, she thinks, as his desire for propriety is well known. Come to think of it, she hadn’t seen Draco in the Ministry over the past year at least. 

She chews her bottom lip as she considers sending them flowers or perhaps attending the funeral to pay her respects to Astoria. They weren’t friends, of course, but she’s learned that support from the most unlikely sources is one of the most uplifting things to encounter. Hence, why she was shocked when Molly and Arthur visited her after she filed for divorce and offered anything they could to help her. 

Her eyes catch another headline, smaller than the main feature but still just as shocking to her. 

_ Malfoy Heir In Search of Nanny _

Of course he couldn’t possibly take care of one child all by himself. The idea is just ludicrous, to think he’d be able to give up the overworked stupor of a successful career path, even without the financial burden she’s suddenly facing, he couldn’t part with the Malfoy & Associates brand. 

She rolls her eyes and that’s when she catches the interesting bit.

_ Draco Malfoy, heir to the Malfoy fortune, is seeking a full time nanny, who will be responsible for his son, and lone heir. Mister Malfoy is offering the perfect candidate nights and weekends off, full medical coverage, and a signing bonus of ten thousand galleons.  _

Her brown eyes are so wide that her eyebrows are nearly pressing into her hairline. Ten thousand galleons just to sign? But she couldn’t possibly, he wouldn’t possibly… could she, would he? 

She stares at the small moving picture of Malfoy holding his son on his hip and waving at the camera. The boy smiles toothily and pecks his dad on the cheek. He’s adorable, she thinks, and immediately decides that it must be the Astoria’s doing, because the Draco Malfoy she remembers is nothing short of a dickhead. 

The interaction with him would be minimal, she assumes, since he’s offering nights and weekends off. He must be willing to actually raise the sprog himself when he’s not working, which Hermione has learned is a rarity among pureblood high society, if Pansy’s exploits without her child are anything to go by. 

She toys with the idea of applying. She bites her lip, grabs a quill and parchment, and then she sips tea for an hour before she finally decides to send off her letter of intent to the mailing address on the article. 

As soon as her owl takes flight, she wants to change her mind. It’s a terrible idea. She can’t possibly work for Malfoy. And he wouldn’t want her to, would he? He’d probably ridicule her for even trying. Oh, but she is such an idiot. The owl disappears and so do the last vestiges of her pride. 

Five days later, long and agonizing days where Hermione randomly smacks herself in the forehead and groans about the stupid decision to apply for work as Malfoy’s nanny, she receives a return owl. She’s invited, in what appears to be a generic letter, to interview with Draco Malfoy in his Wiltshire manor. 

Today. 

She rereads the letter and sees the time. 

An hour. An hour?  _ Only a damn hour! _

The kids are with their father, thankfully, and she has been on sabbatical from the Ministry for weeks in order to sort out her affairs after the divorce. She has no immediate obligations as much as she’s grasping at something, anything to talk herself out of going.

There aren’t enough hair care products in the universe to take the beast atop her head in under an hour. There’s not enough makeup to cover the dark circles under her eyes, the result of exhaustion and running a household. She’s not sure an hour is long enough to be okay with facing Draco Malfoy,  _ inside Malfoy Manor _ , and not have a nervous breakdown over potentially working for him. But, blimey, an hour is all she has to make absolutely certain that she can get that ten thousand galleons signing bonus. 

She pulls her hair up into a tight tail and she sweeps her long fringe off to the side so that it swoops along her eyebrow. She dots concealer over the purple shadows beneath her tired eyes and gives her pale face a bit of blush so that she looks at least somewhat human. 

She debates on clothing for far too long for her liking. If it was Harry or Neville or even Percy, she’d wear jeans and a sweater, but it’s Malfoy and in every photo she’s ever seen with him, he’s always so proper and put together. Jeans wouldn’t do. But she doesn’t want to wear a dress, but a pantsuit seems too much. In the end, she lands on a pair of black slacks and a cream colored jumper with a thick collar. Simple, comfortable, and passes as dressing professionally. 

“Merlin, what am I doing?” She mutters to herself as she approaches her floo. 

The invitation to interview is in one hand and a folder in the other. She’s nothing if not entirely prepared to fight for the job, with recommendations from other parents and a full-scale plan on how to be a nanny to the Malfoy heir. She doesn’t think Malfoy will appreciate some of her ideas, but she’s Hermione Granger and so she will lay down ground rules that he must follow if she’s to nanny his heir. 

Her confidence shakes a little as she scoops a little powder into her hand, coating the invitation in soot. She steps into the crate and stares out at her tiny living room as she throws the powder at her feet. 

“Malfoy Manor!”

She’s gone in an instant and closes her eyes as the world spins around her. When she finally dares to open them again, she’s standing in a much taller fireplace overlooking a beautiful foyer. It takes her several moments to catch her breath and wrestle with her courage to enter this home again and she clenches her fist around the invitation. 

There’s no one in the room to greet her as her heels click on the white tile. Across from the floo, there’s a large arch that separates the foyer from what appears to be a hallway. There are mirrors in the room, as if the Malfoys are providing ample opportunity for their guests to ensure they’re looking their best before entering the main living quarters. Hermione takes the opportunity to check her hair and to ensure she doesn’t have anything embarrassing like knickers stuck to her trousers. 

“Miss!” Hermione glances down to find a young house elf tugging at the hem of her jumper. “Miss is here for Master Malfoy. Follow Tink.”

“Hullo, Tink,” Hermione greets the elf kindly, noticing that she wears pristine cloth and has adorned her floppy ears with a flowery bow. 

“Miss is one minute late and Master is waiting for her in the den.” 

Tink pulls Hermione along, through long hallways and they pass so many doors. She wonders which is the drawing room; which of these must she avoid at all costs? Her hands are coated in cold moisture and she wants to blame the stairs she’s climbing for her erratic heartbeat, but she knows that’s not true. 

“Master Draco is just through this door,” the little elf tells her as she points to a set of double doors. She pushes the doors open and her toothy smile appears as she drags a nervous Hermione forward to her Master. “Master Draco, Miss Hermione Weasley, as you requested.”

“Er, it’s Granger,” Hermione whispers and she’s not sure anyone hears her. Her voice is stuck in her throat even as she approaches Draco with an outstretched hand. “Hello, Malfoy.”

When he says hello, in a silky voice that she doesn’t expect, Hermione finally brings her eyes to his rather than his dragonhide shoes. He’s still hardened, guarded, just as she remembers, but his lips are raised with a tight, kind smile and that’s not something she’s ever associated with him. 

“Granger.” 

Malfoy takes her hand gently and curls his underneath it. For a moment she thinks he’s going to bow and kiss the back of her hand, but he just applies a small bit of pressure and then pulls his hand away. She releases a nervous breath and tries her best to smile. 

This is a very bad idea. 

“Thank you,” she says roughly, and then wipes her hand against her trousers. “For interviewing me, I mean.”

He nods his head and then gestures for her to sit in one of the chairs in front of a fire. She hasn’t even taken in the room, and finally pull her eyes from him to take stock of her surroundings. A library, top to bottom books all over the walls. How on earth did she not see this immediately? Her mouth falls open just a little bit as she feels around for a chair to slide into. 

“I thought you’d be more comfortable here,” he tells her as he sits in the chair opposite her. “You’re in your natural habitat surrounded by books.”

“It’s spectacular,” she breathes and finally plants her bottom into the chair. Her neck still cranes to look around at the tombs on the wall. She can make out some titles and authors, and Merlin does she want to live in this room forever. “Are you catering your interviews to the applicants?”

He waits a beat and she watches as his eyes dance over her face before he answers. “No.”

“Just me, then?” She chances a small smile and finally settles into her seat with her hands in her lap on top of her invitation and folder of information. 

Malfoy nods. “Just you, Granger. Not Weasley?”

Hermione swallows around a dry patch in her throat and barely shakes her head. “No. We, er… that is to say, it didn’t…”

“Like many of our generation, you found that you’ve made the wrong decision.” 

She lets out a deep breath. “Yes. Our generation is going to spike the divorce rates, I think.”

Malfoy laughs, actually chuckles a deep and rumbley sound and she smiles at him. “Our generation has broken many unconventional records. Death, of course, being the worst.”

She sobers immediately. Her fingers fidget around the papers in her lap and the small moment of laughter dies quickly, dousing the room in crisp silence. Draco pours himself a drink, an amber colored liquid, in a crystal glass, and then offers one to Hermione. She shakes her head.

“Right, so, this interview,” she says, crossing and uncrossing her knees, “is it traditional? Do you have questions for me to answer? I brought a bit of material-”

He snorts, and then apologizes. “Sorry. Of course you come prepared, my apologies, Granger.”

Her instinct is to recoil, but instead she thrusts the folder our to him. He takes it, opens it briefly, and then tosses it onto the table next to him. 

“Don’t you want to-”

“Not necessary,” he says with a small smile. “Granger, I’ll be honest with you, no one else has applied for the job.”

Her eyebrows shoot up. “No one?”

“Not one. I’ve listed that position three times, increasing the signing bonus each time. No one wants a thing to do with… my situation.” 

She watches his throat bob as he gulps down the whisky in his glass. He hisses through his teeth and then sets the glass down on top of her folder. She wants to move it, to put it on a coaster instead of making a mess of her folder, but she resists. He seems so lost, sort of broken in a way, as he leans forward and rests his elbows against his thighs. That’s when she sees the light scruff on his face and the way his hair curls just over his ears. He’s just as tired as she is, and she has to bite her lip to keep from saying it out loud.

“Astoria, she was adamant that our son not be raised by house elves, like we were.” Draco runs a hand through his hair and watches her closely. She feels like he’s waiting for her to say something, but she keeps her mouth tightly closed. “I don’t even live at the manor anymore.”

She can’t help herself. “Why are we here, then?”

“I wanted to know how serious you are.” His tone isn’t apologetic at all. “I know you’re a ministry official now, and I thought, perhaps, you were made to keep tabs on me.”

Hermione uncrosses her legs and leans forward. “Malfoy, the Ministry doesn’t care-”

“Potter says otherwise.” He laughs, but there’s no humor there. “It’s been seven years and they’re still convinced my family is going to try to resurrect The Dark Lord.”

She’s surprised, not because he’s spoken to Harry, but because he sounds so bitter. “I didn’t know, honestly. I only work in the Creature division, and only reviewing propositions before they make it to the supervisor.”

It’s his turn to appear surprised. His pale eyebrow raises. “Pardon my bluntness, Granger, but I don’t believe that after seven years, you’re only a paper pusher.”

Her eyes twitch. She swallows. Her hands are wet and cold and she desperately tries to wipe off the perspiration on her slacks. Ron ruined a lot for her, and at the top of the list is her career. 

“I… I’ve had to focus on my family.”

“Weasley didn’t like a powerful female for a wife?” His tone is both teasing and filled with a disdain that she’d heard whenever she spoke to her friends about Ron’s desire for her to be a stay at home mum. “He’s an idiot.”

“Draco!” She doesn’t disagree, but it’s hardly his place to say. “It’s not… He’s just accustomed to a certain lifestyle, is all. Let’s stop talking about this, okay? What do you want to know about me in relation to this job?”

He doesn’t answer her immediately. Draco’s eyes rest on her gaze for a few beats and she no longer feels that the blush on her face is makeup related. He sits back and crosses a foot over his knee. His forearms flex as he holds onto his shin gently, and it’s her turn to watch him. He’s relaxed and not as dapper as she remembered him to be, wearing a button up shirt with the forearms rolled up to his elbows, and a silver watch on his wrist.

“You have children of your own,” he says finally and he pours himself another two fingers of whisky. “I know you can care for children. Do you cook? Are you tidy?”

“I cook and I clean, of course.” She almost sounds insulted that he’d even ask. “I don’t have house elves and I’m running my household on my own.”

“With a full time job?” 

She feels like he’s leading her somewhere, and she sighs. 

“No. I’m on sabbatical at the moment while the kids and myself adjust to our new… lifestyle.”

“What if I didn’t want you to return to work? To focus solely on this job?” 

She opens her mouth, intending to tell him bugger off, but instead she whispers, “Okay.”

Alarm bells sound in her head as he watches her face closely. She’s not unwilling to only be a nanny but she doesn’t want him to know why she wants this job so badly. 

“Okay? Just like that?” 

She ducks her chin. “Just like that.”

“Granger,” he smiles around the words. “You’re hired.”


	2. Well Behaved Aurors

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holy. Moly. The response to this was well beyond what I could have imagined. Thank you all so much for every kudo, subscription, bookmark, and comment. I was so nervous to post this story, and now I’m just flooded with all sorts of happy feels. I’m posting this second chapter early, as a thank you for all of the support and wonderful words. From here, it’ll be weekly Monday updates... but this is a special thank you from me to you. <3

“And then he said that he’d have me over at the weekend to meet Scorpius.”

Hermione whines into the crook of her arm and hits her forehead over and over again on her forearm. Her hair is wild around her head and she’s a fucking wreck as she goes on and on about her interview with Malfoy. A hand rests on her shoulder and stops her movements.

“Hermione.” Harry tries not to laugh, he really does, but he’s never been good about hiding his emotions and he’s having far too much fun at her expense today. “This is a good thing. You can be with your kids and you can enjoy their childhood this way.”

She groans. “Nannying for a Malfoy, Harry. Draco Malfoy’s heir!”

“You could always let me pay off your solicitor instead.” 

Her head whips up and her hair is like a beast as it flips around her head. Harry puts up his hands with a wide grin on his face. 

“We’ve talked about this, Harry. I don’t want a hand out. I’m perfectly capable of-”

“I know, I know.” He sits down across from her and pulls her hand into his. “Listen, Hermione. Draco isn’t as bad as you think, not anymore. Sure, he’s a sarcastic git still, but he’s mostly harmless and has been since his divorce.”

“Yes, so you’ve said a hundred times.” She glances at Harry and tries not to sound so worried but fails. “I just… Ron will be livid and I-”

“Ron doesn’t get a say in what you do anymore.” Harry’s voice is firm. “You’re doing what you have to do and there’s nothing wrong with it. Besides, it’s not forever, right?”

“Right.” She plucks her bottom lip with her teeth. “Harry, what is Ginny doing now? With the kids?”

He pushes his glasses up on his nose, something she knows he does when he’s buying time to think. She allows him that much; neither of them like speaking of their divorce. His and Ginny’s, luckily, was far more amicable than hers and Ron’s. 

“I have custody while she’s traveling with the Harpies. She floos when she can.” He shrugs. “We’re figuring it out as we go.”

“Do James or Albus ever ask…?” Hermione tries to reel her quivering voice back in, but it’s still raw and shaky. “About why she’s gone?”

“Albus doesn’t seem to notice,” Harry says thoughtfully, “if he does, he doesn’t ever talk about it. And James… he thinks it’s cool that his mum plays professional quidditch.”

“Are you ever mad that they… revere her?” 

She’s been sorting through her emotions about the divorce and the kids for quite some time, but she always gets stuck on how fun they think their father is, and yet she’s the disciplinarian. She’s no fun, she’s all rules, and they can’t wait to visit their father. It hurts. 

“Hermione…” he breathes her name and almost gives her a pitying look before her face looks cross and he rethinks it. “I mean, it’s mildly frustrating that I’m the constant caretaker and she gets to go off and do all the fun things and bring them signed brooms and whatnot, but… I get to  _ be there _ .”

Ugh. He’s too logical about it. She wants to rage and cry and there’s Harry all sensical. It’s infuriating.

“Yeah, okay.” She pulls her hand from his and grabs the tea kettle as it starts to whistle. “So, I think I’m going to take Rose and Hugo with me to meet Scorpius.”

“That’s a good idea. Albus and James really like him.” 

Harry accepts the tea she holds out for him and takes a sip. She never understood how he could stand boiling hot tea, but she allows hers to cool and says nothing. He’s comforting to her, and she’s thankful that she doesn’t have to worry about the kids getting along. 

“Wait.” She tilts her head. “James and Albus have been around Malfoy?” 

Harry smiles at her. “We’ve worked together for a while and our children are the same age. Just about everyone’s kids have been around Malfoy’s boy.”

“What!” 

“Hermione. Look, okay, you’ve been sort of… cooped up with Ron.” Harry is delicate, setting his cup down and running a hand through his hair to buy him time. He watches her face and she’s aware she looks angry but she doesn’t try to hide it. “He had you on lockdown, right?”

“That’s not true.” she demands and she stomps her foot against the tiles on the floor. “I saw you and Bill and Fleur and… Luna… and…”

She stops. Her eyes fill with tears. She’s only ever been around  _ his  _ friends in seven years. Their mutual friends, mostly from Hogwarts, but never anyone Ron wouldn’t want to see. Oh, Merlin, how did that happen? 

“Harry,” she whispers and he’s no longer across from her but next to her with his arm around her shoulders. “How long was it that bad?”

He presses a kiss to the side of her head and speaks into her mop of hair. “It doesn’t matter, Hermione. It’s over now.”

“Harry!” She turns to face him, her eyes red as tears began to fall. 

His finger pushes the tears away and he sighs. “Hermione, it’s been… since the war. Since you two moved into your flat and… well, Ginny thinks you wanted to feel safe and Ron, well, he protected you so much from everything until he controlled it all.”

“He didn’t…” 

Harry’s lips are a hard line. “Hermione, what did you want to do when you left Hogwarts?”

“Advocate for creature rights,” she answers automatically. 

“What is your job now?” 

 

“I review proposals before they go to the head of the department.”

“Why aren’t you the head of the department?”

“Well, Ron said…” she gasps and covers her mouth with her hand.

As she starts to openly sob, Harry cradles her against his chest and whispers into her ear that it’ll be okay, that he’s here for her now, and that it’s over so she can move on. 

She wakes up sometime later on her sofa. Harry has left her a message that he had to leave but that he’d check on her later. Hermione’s grateful for her friendship with Harry and she smiles down at the note he left her with a little smiley face next to his name. 

The clock dings signaling the top of the hour and she glances at the time. Six o’clock; she’d slept for three hours on the sofa and her kids will be home any moment. She folds the blanket on the sofa and fluffs the pillows she’d laid against. She hurries into the kitchen to see that Harry already took care of the dishes from tea, bless him. Just as she walks back into the living room, her floo lights up and green reflects off the walls. 

“Mummy!” Huge darts forward and wraps his arms around her legs, snuggling them hard. “Daddy got got us candy floss and chocky frogs!”

Sugar, of course. Notorious is Ron for bringing them home hyped up on sugar. She grimaces and holds her arms out to Rose, who gives her a hug. 

“Welcome home, loves,” she says to them and kneels down to pat them on their heads. “Go wash up and get ready for dinner, yes, Hugo, you must eat dinner.”

The boy stomps from the room, followed by his older sister. Hermione spins on Ron with a finger aimed at his chest.

“Sugar before dinner, Ron, really?” 

Ron smiles, ginger hair hanging over his eyes in the way she used to find endearing and rugged. He situates his hands on his waist and shrugs. 

“The kids were sad to go, so I bribed them a little bit.” 

She blinks. She forces her eyes to stop prickling with a deep, long breath. Her finger falls to her side.

“Oh,” she whispers, and it hits her right in the heart. “Sad to… come home?”

She doesn’t know why she gives him the chance to hurt her more, but she does, and he takes it. 

“They were having fun with their dad.” Ron’s face lights up innocently and he smiles in the direction where his kids ran off to wash up. “They said a few times how they wish I was back home.”

“Home? Here?” 

Her thoughts are cloudy and she feels his words stab at her over and over. She’s the one who ruined this, who kicked him out and forced them to be without their dad. And now they want him home and they like spending time with him and she’s just mum: the mean. 

“Yeah.” He steps closer and places a finger on her chin, tipping her gaze up to his. “They said you’re sad, and they asked me to take care of you like  I used to.”

“They did?” Hermione asks breathlessly, unable to move. 

It’s a familiar sensation; she’s not doing enough, not being enough, to be what everyone needs, but there’s Ron, there to step in and take care of her and of the things she hasn’t even thought about. Something about this feels wrong, because she’s not his to take care of. But the kids, they’ve sensed something is wrong, and so here he is, taking care of her still. 

He nods once and his eyes flicker between hers. She wants to cry, had already cried too much today, but she’s emotionally raw and he’s Ron and she can’t remember why she left him right now. 

“Blimey, Hermione. They told me that you’re not even working.” His whisper is so close to her face that she can feel his breath against her forehead. “That’s not like you, love.”

“No, it-”

His finger glides along her jaw and then his hand cups her cheek. 

“You know I’m here for you, yeah? I can watch the kids and take care of you if you want to take some time off work?”

He’s closer still and her eyes close. A tear falls down her cheek as she sighs deeply. 

“Ron, I-”

“Hermione-” 

She feels her name against her lips. She wants to push him away, to put space between them. But maybe she needs this, needs this closure or needs this care. He’s warm and he’s Ron and maybe she needs him here so that she can be a better mum and-

“Ron, what’re you doing here?” 

Harry’s voice. 

Ron steps to the side and Hermione doesn’t move a muscle. Her eyes are still closed, lips pinched in an effort to hold back more tears. 

“Hey, mate!” Ron’s tone is lively, not the sweet and convincing thing it was a moment ago. “Just brought the sprogs back home.”

“Hermione?” Harry’s voice sounds worried, an edge to it like he’s got his molars pressed together. “Are you alright?”

She dares to open her eyes and his green gaze is heated and furious. Ron doesn’t seem to notice, standing blissfully at her side. Hermione jumps away from him at once and hugs Harry around the waist. She mumbles into his shirt.

“Fine, I’m fine. Thank you for coming.” She pulls away and glances up at him. 

His hand sweeps her hair away from her eyes. When he’s sure he believes she’s alright, his eyes lift and find Ron over her head. 

“Mate.” The word bites from his lips. “I’ll take her from here. She’s had a rough day and I stopped by for tea.”

She knows he’s lying; she’d already had tea with Harry. But he doesn’t want Ron here and she doesn’t know why, but she’s thankful so that she doesn’t do something stupid. 

She doesn’t see Ron, since her eyes are on the collar of Harry’s shirt. But she hears him, the strained voice he’d once used when trying not to argue with her in front of the children. 

“Great. Appreciate you looking out for our girl.”

Harry’s voice is so low, Hermione barely hears him. “We’ll see you at Sunday dinner.”

“Bye, Hermione,” Ron says before he calls out The Burrow and the familiar sound of flames echoes around the room.

Harry’s hands are on her shoulders and he steers her to the sofa. Once she’s sat down, he’s next to her and his arm is around her and her head is on his shoulder. She breathes deep and he rubs his thumb against the muscles he can find. It takes her a few minutes but by the time the children come out from washing up and changing clothes, she’s no longer visibly upset. 

“Mummy, are we having roast for dinner?” Hugo bounces between her and Harry and is stuck to her side as he grins up at her. “With potatoes and carrots?”

Hermione takes a deep breath and her eyes rest on little Hugo’s blue eyes. Rosie sits on the arm of the sofa next to her and cuddles against Hermione. Everything finally feels right. She glances up to Harry, who is smiling at the scene and she nods. 

“Yes, darling,” she promises with a smile, “Harry will help me set the table, won’t you Harry?”

“That’s what all well behaved aurors do.” His lips lift crookedly and he ruffles Hugo’s hair. 

“Mummy one day I’m going to be an auror and I’ll help you set the table!” Hugo’s proud face beams at his mum and then to Harry, seeking his approval. 

Finally, Hermione’s heart is light and the worries from earlier in the day melt away as she and Harry dance around each other in the kitchen and set the table for dinner. 

Later in the evening when the kids are tucked into bed, Harry helps Hermione clean up from dinner. She washes, he dries, and it’s so domestic that Hermione can’t help but laugh as she passes him a plate. 

“What’s so funny?” He asks her with a raised eyebrow, towel working over the plate carefully. 

“Harry Potter, washing dishes,” she laughs and hands him another plate. “Everyone is so used to you taking down dark wizards and saving the world. Imagine the scandal if they saw you drying dishes the muggle way.”

His green eyes sparkle in a mischievous way. He doesn’t take the next plate she hands him, but he rolls up the kitchen towel in his hands and grins at her.

“Did you know that I once snapped Dudley so hard in the arse, he couldn’t sit down for an entire day?” His eyebrows raise as his hands pull back as if to snap the towel.

“No! Harry!” Hermione flings the plate down and jumps away from him. He takes a step and she shrieks and runs away. “Harry! Harry, no!”

She ducks into the small living room behind the sofa and peeks over the top. He’s standing right there with wild, playful eyes staring back at her. Hermione makes a noise in the back of her throat and runs from behind the sofa with her hands covering her bum. 

“You can’t run far,” he warns her, though it doesn’t sound as if he’s chasing her at all. “You might as well just let me have my way.”

Hermione glances around the corner and she sees Harry standing in the middle of the living room with his back to her. She sneaks forward, taking care not to so much as breathe, and she wraps her arms around his waist and tries to grab for the towel in his hands. 

“Ah, ah, ah,” he chastises, and pulls it from her grasp while turning in her arms. “Cheeky, Hermione.”

“Harry, no!” She backs up in the wall and presses her bottom flat against it. She can’t stop laughing as he approaches her with that wicked gleam in his eyes. “Harry! Come on, stop.”

He’s completely invading her personal space. His eyes are staring down into hers. She’s still got the echo of laughter falling from her lips. The towel drops between them and she glances down as it falls to her feet. When she raises them again, he’s closer still. She swallows.

“Harry?” 

His eyes flick down to her lips and then he swipes his tongue along his bottom lip. “Hermione, tell me one more time to stop, please.”

She sucks in a breath. Everything about this moment is charged; emotions from earlier, the playful fun they’d just shared, and the way he’s looking at her as if he wants nothing more than to kiss her. Hermione shakes her head, just a little motion, barely discernible. 

“Be clearer,” he pleads with her, hands coming down to rest on her lips. Fingers clench and he pulls her closer. “Be very clear with me, Hermione.”

“Kiss me, Harry.”

He doesn’t let a beat pass before his lips are on hers and his hands are traveling from her hips to her hair. Hermione wraps her arms around his neck and pushes her body into his and makes a pleased noise in the back of her throat. He groans as his hands wrap into her hair at the base of her skull and he pulls her hair lightly as he demands more from her mouth.

She arches into him and gives as good as she gets. There’s not a time in her life she can remember being snogged like this. Her body is on fire and she can’t stop the noises he’s pulling out of her so effortlessly. When he pulls away and presses their foreheads together, she can’t even catch her breath.

“I should go,” he whispers, and it sounds like it takes every ounce of strength to say. 

“Don’t.” Her grip around his neck tightens. “Stay.”

“Promise me that you won’t overthink this.” He kisses her lightly and pulls away. When she agrees, he sighs as if he’d been holding his breath. “I have to leave, but I wish I could stay.”

“Okay.” She disentangles herself from him and when there’s space between them, she suddenly feels shy. Her eyes rest on the carpet between them and her hands fidget together. 

Merlin, she’d just snogged Harry! 

“When are you back from Draco’s tomorrow?” His finger tips her chin so that she’s forced to meet his gaze. 

“After dinner,” she says after biting her lip and she has to force the words to leave her. She’s filled with such desire for him - why? He’d always been Harry, off limits. Why now? 

“I’ll see you tomorrow after dinner.” He pulls her face towards him and kisses her again, softly but demanding. When he pulls away, he’s smiling at her. “Don’t overthink this.” 


	3. Savages

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I continue to be so amazed at the response to this story! You’re all wonderful and I can’t thank you enough for following along. Many thanks and much love to my beta, alpha, all-around lifesaver and breakdown-stopper, Pronunciation_Hermy_One. <3

In fact, she hasn’t  _ stopped  _ thinking about that kiss since the moment Harry left her the night before. What the hell is he playing at, telling her not to overthink it. Does he know her at  _ all? _ Her middle name might as well be Overthink. 

Of course she didn’t sleep at all. It was all fits and tossing and turning. She replays the entire day over and over again in her head for a solid twenty two hours. Sometimes, she grins so widely that she feels her cheeks pushing at her ears and other times she’s so embarrassed that she balls her tiny hands into fists and growls as she presses them to her eyes. 

_ Don’t overthink it.  _ For the hour that she actually rests in bed, she considers what it means. Does he  _ like _ her? Is he attracted to her? Was he just trying to stop her thinking about Ron’s actions? Just an emotionally charged moment? How the hell is she supposed to go have dinner with the Malfoys and not think about the way her entire body came alive at Harry’s touch? That she’s pressed her fingers to her lips at least once a half hour because she can still feel the delicious pressure against them. And the way his scruff rubbed against her face, the friction, the palpable heat between them.

Cor, but she is actually losing her shit over it still, twenty two hours later, as she steps into the floo grate squeezed between her two little children. Her hands are like vices around theirs; she’s nervous, she’s wrecked, and she’s so damn confused over Harry Bloody Potter and His Incredibly Wonderful Lips. 

_ Don’t overthink it. _ She stumbles over saying “Draco’s home” as Rose tosses a handful of soot to their feet. Hugo’s beaming at her side because he loves floo travel, but while she’s normally excitable for him, she can’t find the strength to entertain it today. 

Tink greets the three of them at the floo with a toothy smile and bright pink cloth wrapped around her little body. The view is different this time, as Hermione is granted access to Draco’s personal floo at his real home in Wiltshire. It’s smaller than the manor, much less intimidating, but still a sizeable home for just a man and his son. How she’s managed to squeeze herself and two young children into her small flat is baffling when she compares it to Draco’s home. 

_ Don’t overthink it.  _ Hermione takes a deep breath and pulls her children along after the elf, though they are not used to seeing such a creature and don’t take a lot of convincing to following it. She tries to stop them from ogling the poor thing, but with all of the moving portraits along the hallway, their attention spans are very small.  Her heels click against the floor but unlike at the manor, the sound doesn’t echo through the hallway. The children make little noises of wonder as they are guided from room to room until they finally reach the den where Draco and Scorpius are sitting, waiting.    
  
“Master Draco,” Tinks says happily, yanking Hermione into the room. “Mister Scorpius. Miss Hermione, Miss Rose, and Mister Hugo.”   
  
She makes one last ditch effort to thrust Harry from her thoughts.  _ Don’t overthink it.  _ She’s going to murder Harry when she sees him again.  _ Don’t overthink it _ . If she gets through this meal without cursing Malfoy – entirely likely – she’s going to demand answers from The Boy Who Decided It Was A Good Idea To Snog His Best Friend Perfectly. 

_ Don’t. Bloody. Overthink. It. Granger. _

She raises her chin, puts on her very best unaffected mask, and approaches the Malfoys with her children in tow. Draco and Scorpius both stand to greet them. The Malfoys are nearly indistinguishable from one another except for their obvious age difference and it’s adorable. Both are wearing suit jackets and crisp black trousers, the only difference between them is the emerald button down that Scorpius wears and the powder blue that Draco wears. She’s trying not to notice the way the blue makes his gray eyes pop, but as he approaches her, she can’t take her eyes off them. Draco reaches out to take her hand and she hopes her palms aren’t slick from her nerves.     
  
“Granger, thank you for agreeing to this evening.” He turns to each of her children in turn and welcomes them to his home. “Rose, Hugo, welcome to our home.”   
  
“Scorpius. It’s ever so nice to meet you.” Hermione shakes the small boy’s hand and smiles at him. He’s so much like his father in looks, but she can see Astoria in some of his softer edges.    
  
His mannerisms, though, are all Draco. “I’m pleased to make your acquaintance, Miss Hermione.”    
  
Scorpius bends at the waist and then turns to say the same to the two children, who wave at him in response. Draco lifts an eyebrow at Hermione and she shrugs; she won’t apologize for her children lacking airs. His lips twitch towards a smile as if he knows exactly what she’s thinking.    
  
“I hope you all enjoy roast.” Draco turns to the Weasley children. She’s sort of taken by surprise at his soft tone, it’s almost playful, but most definitely kind. It’s not the Malfoy she’s used to and the way that her children react to him warms her heart.     
  
“Yes!” Hugo pumps his fist into the air. The boy has no shame about food. “Mummy, we get roast twice this week!”   
  
Hermione bites her lip and blushes but she’s surprised that Draco smiles at her, almost looking proud that he chose the correct food. She shrugs again and tries to stifle the laugh that’s threatening to leave her. Draco wins Hugo over with a pot roast; of course it’s that easy. Scorpius, ever the proper little boy, takes the lead and shows both Hugo and Rose to the dining room and it gives Hermione and Draco a chance to chat.    
  
“Your boy is very proper,” Hermione says, not able to withhold her observation. “So refined at such a young age.”   
  
Draco inclines his chin. “As are most pureblood wizards of his age.”   
  
“Are you serious?” Hermione glares at him and clucks her tongue. She isn’t going to be lectured about blood status and propriety; she’s known many pureblood wizards who are not, in fact, completed dickheads about it. “Not all pureblood children are the model of propriety and grace, Draco. You, I remember, were a little git.”   
  
“A git.” A confused, tiny voice says from the arch between the living and dining rooms. “Dad’s a git?”   
  
“Oh, Merlin.” Hermione covers her eyes with her hand and turns bright red. “No, darling, of course not.”   
  
“Dad  _ was _ a git,” Draco corrects him, chuckling softly at Hermione’s embarrassment. “Mostly to Miss Hermione and her friends.”   
  
“But you’re not a git now?” Scorpius doesn’t look like he buys it; his hands are on his hips and he’s got a blonde eyebrow raised in his father’s direction.    
  
She couldn’t stop the small laugh that escapes her.    
  
“Remains to be seen,” she whispers as Scorpius turns from the room. “Oh, Malfoy, I’m sorry. Your child shouldn’t have to hear-”   
  
“It’s harmless, Granger.” Draco leads her into the dining room with a hand on the small of her back. “It’s good for him to learn now, as I’m sure it shouldn’t wait until he hears it at Hogwarts from people who are less understanding of my past.”   
  
It hurts for her to hear, because just as early as a few days ago, she wasn’t very understanding of his past. Though, she’d never wish for his child to hear it. Scorpius, as far as she’s concerned, is entirely innocent. He’s not responsible for the sins of his father, just as Rose and Hugo are not responsible for the sins of their mother. 

And there are many.    
  
“Still,” she says with her chin in the air, eyes sweeping the dining room as she enters it, “I don’t think it’s appropriate for Scorpius to know who you were. He only cares about who you are now.”    
  
“It’s nice of you to say, Granger.”    
  
The dining room is full of noise from three boisterous children at the table. Scorpius is sitting between Rose and Hugo and they’re all fighting over the serving spoon for the potatoes. Hermione smiles and turns to Draco who is watching them with an odd sort of expression. She knows he’s never had siblings, so maybe the sight of his son alongside other children behaving as brothers and sisters hits a nerve. He pulls his eyes away from the savage children – save for Scorpius, who is allowing Rose to take what she wants before he does – and offers Hermione a brief, small smile.    
  
“They’re little beasts, your children.” Draco pulls out a chair and waits for Hermione to accept the seat. She doesn’t care for what he’s doing though, and she pulls out another chair and sits in it. Draco chuckles and tucks himself into the chair he pulled out for her. “And now I see where they get it from.”    
  
She glares at him, but there’s no heat behind it. He rewards her with a cheeky smirk and then reaches for his napkin and tosses it gently over his lap. She considers him for a moment, wondering what he’d do if she tucks her cloth napkin into her neckline, but decides against it and mimics his actions. There’s something in his eyes as he watches the white material fall to her lap and she catches the slightest little twitch at the corner of his lips.    
  
He leans over to her, shoulder to shoulder, and nods down to the opposite end of the table where the children are still fighting over the serving spoons. Poor Tink looks fit to burst as she takes a serving spoon from one and then immediately has to snatch it away from another. Hermione laughs under her breath. She feels Draco’s breath against her ear before she even hears his chest rumble.   
  
“Looks like your son’s desire to be a perfect gentleman is causing quite the disturbance.” She watches as the little blonde boy scowls at her son. Hermione is instantly transported back to Hogwarts and to the very similar looks that were shared between a certain blonde and redhead. “Oh my word, Draco, they may yet kill each other.”    
  
“Savages,” he whispers back, voice strained from holding back a laugh. His voice transitions from lighthearted to fatherly quite suddenly. “Scorpius Hyperion Malfoy.”    
  
The boy’s face immediately loses its scowl. He sits straight up, shoulders square, chin up. Dutifully, he ignores the redhead to his right who is still snatching at spoons and scooping food onto his plate. Hermione can see Hugo’s body shake with his feet kicking in the air as they dangle over the edge of the chair.    
  
“Yes, father.” Scorpius’ eyes meet his half-full plate. His lips are pinched and each time that Hugo moves, he knocks into Scorpius’ side.    
  
“What do you say to Hugo and Rose?”    
  
Draco leads his son through the etiquette of rectifying poor behavior and Hermione watches just how tight a ship Malfoy runs in his household. It’s eye opening, given that her son is responsible for the majority of the savagery happening at the table.    
  
“I’m sorry, Rose and Hugo, for my behavior.”    
  
Silence follows. Draco’s eyes fall on her and he challenges her with a raised eyebrow. Hermione clears her throat and addresses her own children. Her tone is exactly the opposite of Draco’s; flowery and sweet.    
  
“Hugo, darling,” she says, brilliant smile on her face. “Rose? Do you have anything to say back to Scorpius, perhaps?”    
  
Less clear and sincere than Scorpius, both of the Weasley-Granger children mumble quickly, “Sorry.”    
  
Draco sighs, obviously expecting nothing further, and pulls his wand from his pocket. He begins to speak a spell to serve dinner, lifts his wand in the air, but Hermione places a hand on his forearm and forces him to put his wand down. He looks at her curiously and she shakes her head. No, her children may misbehave from time to time, but they would not get away with being little – as Draco had put it – savages. Hermione removes her napkin from her lap and places it overtop her plate. She stands and ignores Draco’s confused look and walks to the other end of the obnoxiously long dining table.    
  
She squats down, uncomfortably tight slacks be damned, and places herself eye level with the children.  Her eldest, Rose, chews on her bottom lip in much the same way that Hermione is prone to do when nervous. Hermione pulls her daughter’s lip from between her teeth. She’s hyper aware of Draco and Scorpius’ eyes on her, but she tries to ignore the small flare of pink that rises to her cheeks.    
  
“Rose.” Hermione holds her hand out to her daughter expectantly until Rose takes it and steps from the heavy wooden chair to the floor. “I want you to stand in front of Scorpius and I want you to say you’re sorry like you mean it. Do you understand, sweetheart?”    
  
The tiny redhead stares at the black flats that cover her feet and she allows her mum to lead her to Scorpius, who has turned himself around on his chair, and then she releases her hand. Rose fidgets gently with her fingers, and then she smooths down her pretty black and white dress, and lifts her chin to Scorpius. Hermione is proud of her daughter. She might appear to be a slight, quiet flower, but she’s a force to be reckoned with when she puts her mind to it.   
  
“Scorpius,” Rose says softly, her voice grows louder steadily as Scorpius turns his gaze to hers. “I’m ever so sorry for having snatched the spoon from your hand. I do hope you can forgive me for behaving so poorly.” 

Hermione catches Draco’s eye and she’s pleased to see that he’s happy with how she’s handling her children. Scorpius grins at Rose, and he nods. 

“It’s okay!” He bounces on his heels. “I didn’t mind sharing. Dad says sharing is important when you’re young so that you don’t be… a git.”

Scorpius gasps and turns about-pace to his father whose eyebrows are high on his face. “Dad! Are you a git because you wouldn’t share with Miss Hermione?”

Hermione covers her mouth with the back of her hand and turns her head to hide the laughter she can’t hold back. What surprises her the most, however, is hearing Draco’s bark of a laugh from the other end of the table. And then the children follow suit, giggling and whispering excitedly about making their parents laugh. 

She doesn’t even have to walk Hugo to Scorpius as she’d done with Rose. Hugo hops off his seat, massive grin on his face, and sticks out his hand like a proper little boy. 

“I don’t want to be a git like your dad,” Hugo says with the most ridiculous amount of pride. “I am very sorry that I, er, mummy, what’s that word?”

“Behaved,” Hermione whispers very quietly with an encouraging smile.

“Right!” Hugo beams. “I’m…  _ I am _ very sorry that I behaved… bad.”

“Like a git,” Scorpius leans in and whispers to Hugo conspiratorially. He grasps the redhead’s hand and shakes it. 

“Yes! I don’t want to be a git and I’m sorry.” Hugo turns to his mum. “Is that okay, Mummy?”

Hermione has the sting of mirthful tears in her eyes and her lips are twitching as she looks to Draco. His head is bowed, shaking slightly side to side, and she swears she can hear little breaths of laughter from him, stifled as he may try to make them. 

“Yes, little lamb,” she chuckles as she helps tuck him back into the table. “That was perfect, thank you.”

Instead of sitting next to Draco at the other end of the table, Hermione settles in across from the children. She invites Draco to join her with a small, encouraging smile and a nod of her head to the seat beside her. He doesn’t waste time and joins her, the lines from his smile still creasing his cheeks and a little lock of hair falling over his eyes. 

Leaning over to her again, Draco watches the children as he whispers, “You are so fucking hired, Granger. I’m never going to let you go.”

It is sweet, filled with relief, and humor, but Hermione’s cheeks light up with a pretty blush as she reaches forward and pulls a piece of roast onto her plate. 

“Sounds rather selfish, Draco,” she teases, not daring to look him in the eye until her pulse slows down. “You don’t want to give the children the impression that you’re still a git.”

A sharp breath escapes him and it fans across her cheek, and then he’s gone from her proximity. She can still feel his shoulder shake with his laughter every so often during the meal. And the children, thank goodness, are on their best behavior for the rest of the night. 

Hours later after the children are tuckered out and she bids Draco goodnight with Hugo on her shoulder and Rosie gripping onto her leg, Hermione steps through the floo and back into her flat. It’s dark, but she manages to weave her way around the unfolded laundry and baskets, the toys, and books strewn everywhere. The kids are put to sleep in their respective beds and she’s finally settling in to tea at her table. 

Her mind is spiraling over the time she’s spent with Malfoy and his son. She and Scorpius bonded quickly and the children played so well together. She’s worried that it all appears too good to be true. He’s supposed to be a dark wizard, or at least the remnants of one, but Draco actually surprises her with how natural he seems as a father. She’s inclined to believe that Astoria sorted him out, and she’s sad that she will never truly know the witch. 

Draco offered her higher pay than her job at the Ministry so long as she agreed, which she had, to work exclusively for him. She’d be able to access his floo at any time, would be in charge of cooking, cleaning, and all of Scorpius’ day to day activities during the week. Tink would be around, however she wouldn’t be responsible for Scorpius or his care, at the request of Draco’s ex-wife, but should  _ Hermione _ require anything – which she most certainly will not and told Draco repeatedly not to bother the poor house elf – Tink is instructed to assist her. 

Too good to be true just doesn’t cover it. She’s worrying her bottom lip, wondering what she’s not being told or what awful revelation hides around the corner. She’s entirely lost in thought when a hand curls around her shoulder. 

“Dinner run late?” 

She jumps from her seat and her hand flies to her chest as if that can keep her heart from jumping out of her throat. 

“Harry!” 

She swats him on the arm and then she narrows her eyes, remembering how he’d left her the night before. The ire from earlier, the confusion, the panic, the constant nagging feeling that everything around her has changed, returns and sends the most primal parts of her magic reeling. All directed at Harry. 

“You complete git, Harry Potter!” Hermione swats him harder.

“Oi,” He’s still laughing. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have left you like that, but I had to go. I had… a thing to take care of.”

“A  _ thing _ ?” Hermione’s lips pull down in a frown and she can’t possibly glare at him any harder. “You snog me and then suddenly remember  _ a thing _ ?”

“Unavoidable.” As her hand comes down to swat him again, Harry grabs her wrist gently and pulls her closer. “I promise, I’d never leave you like that without a very, very good reason.”

She huffs and tries her hardest not to soften under the way his fingers trail up to her jaw and tilt her chin just so. 

“What’s the reason, then?” Her terse voice is completely obliterated by the way she moves her face toward the warmth of his palm. She’s so damn annoyed but can’t possibly be angry enough to pull away. 

“I can’t…” Harry swallows when she presses her lips to the palm of his hand. “It’s classified.”

“Bloody aurors.” She rolls her eyes. “You can’t just use ‘ _ it’s classified _ ’ as a way to avoid talking to me.”

“Oh, don’t be like that, Hermione. You know I’ll tell you everything I can, when I can.” Harry’s playful voice makes her stomach clench. “Besides, I’m not going anywhere tonight.”

“Good,” she purrs and her hands roam his chest until they reach his shoulders. She shoves him away. “Then we’re going to have a very long talk about what the bloody hell is going on.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I realize I posted this a couple days early, but y’all I have no chill as a human being! Hah. If you’d like to interact more with me, I’m on Tumblr as Frumpologist and in so many fandom groups on FB; they keep me writing and they keep me sane and you know who you are and I adore you <3


	4. The Patron Saint of Unicorns and Rainbows

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This early update is brought to you by the lovely ladies at Dramione FanFiction Writers on Facebook. I have no self control in maintaining a schedule if the chapters are already written and they made me feel way better about it, so surprise: way early update! Thanks, ladies! This one’s for you! <3

Tea. Biscuits. Pyjamas. It’s Hermione’s trifecta of a long sit-in. Usually, though, it’s complete with old muggle movies and perhaps a good book. Tonight, however, she’s sitting across her small table from her very best friend, and she wants to wring his neck. 

“So, you thought because I looked  _ sad _ because my ex-husband is a dickhead, that you’d just upend fifteen years of friendship and snog me a little!” 

Her shrill voice would have woken the children had she not been clever enough to throw up a silencing spell over her kitchen. Granted, it’s not just her voice that can wake the dead; she’s been flinging plates around as she cleans them and Harry has to thank his quick seeker reflexes that he manages to catch a fork as it flies towards his face. Her hair is growing by the second, as if her curls are frizzier the angrier she becomes. And Harry takes it all, sitting at the table with his hands folded in his lap and his big, green eyes filled with unspoken apologies. 

Unspoken, because she’d yet to allow him a word in through her ranting. 

“I just don’t understand.” She throws a sopping wet rag onto the table because she’s disgusted that she’s held it in her hand for so long. “Why did you kiss me?”

Harry looks terrified to answer the question. Almost as if he knows whatever he says will be the wrong thing. He opens his mouth, thinks better of whatever is about to spill out, and then snaps it shut. He picks at a thread on his jeans, a place where the material is so worn it’s starting to fray, and he halfheartedly shrugs his shoulder. 

“I was caught up in the moment,” he says as he raises his eyes to hers. She’s glaring, he’s trying not to smile crookedly at her and failing. “You’re pretty. You’re sad. I wanted to make you feel better. And-”

“Do you realize,” the words leave her slowly, cutting him off by just the sharp tone, “what I’ve gone through in the past week?”

Harry nods and his eyes dip to the biscuits on the table. “I have some idea, yeah.”

“Some,” she emphasizes. “Not all, Harry. I’m losing my fucking mind here! I’m divorced.  _ Me _ , divorced. I’m a damn paper pusher. I’m raising two children, I’m fourteen thousand galleons in debt  _ at least _ . And now I’ve agreed to  _ nanny for Draco bloody Malfoy.” _

“I thought you’d said he wasn’t so bad?” 

Her brain stops. It just empties. All of that, her entire rant, and  _ this _ is how he chooses to respond. Merlin, she’s going to actually murder him. She grinds her teeth together and crosses her arms over her chest. 

“Harry.” Hermione takes a deep breath and counts to five in her head as she expels it. “It doesn’t matter if Draco Malfoy becomes the patron saint of unicorns and rainbows, I’m not entirely thrilled to be working for a man who once made fun of me for having buck teeth.”

As if instinct guides her, Hermione runs her tongue over the groove over front teeth. Some things never leave you, and the way Draco Malfoy once treated her stings. No matter how much he’s changed. He’s kind enough now, he’s humble, but she’s still struggling to separate the boy from the man. 

“Hermione, we were twelve and everything was so... intense.” Harry scoots his chair around the table so that he’s perched next to her. “I know, I  _ know _ , that doesn’t make up for it. But maybe working with-”

“For,” she emphasizes.

“- _ for _ him won’t be as bad as you’d think.” He tries a tentative smile and it earns him less of a frown from her. “He’s really not so bad, actually helps quite a bit at the DMLE as a consultant.”

“Professionally, of course he’s brilliant.” She sighs and uncrosses her arms and starts picking at the end of her sleeve. “Work ethic aside, Harry, it’s just hard, okay? And that’s on top of everything else.”

It is quiet for several minutes. Harry watches her with a notch of worry between his brows and she stares out the small window, just barely making out the crescent moon behind thin clouds. Truth is, she really did enjoy seeing Draco as a father, and she did enjoy his company at dinner. It’s strangely easy to be around him, despite all of her hesitation to work for him. But, so much has changed in her life, so many things have been turned upside down and inside out. She’s nervous about it all, about not having a path to follow, about not knowing the rules anymore. 

And then Harry kissed her and now she has even more questions. She liked the kiss and she loves Harry, of course she does. But, it’s complicated and she doesn’t know if she can do complicated on top of everything else.

“Ginny had an affair.”

The words hang between them and Hermione doesn’t know how to respond. Harry and Ginny have been divorced for a year now, six months earlier than when she and Ron filed for divorce. Harry told her that they wanted different things and Hermione understood then. She doesn’t understand now. Ginny got everything she ever wanted; the boy of legend, Harry Potter. And she just threw it away. 

The shock on her face mustn’t be a surprise because Harry bobs his head, a sheepish tug at his lips. He steeples his fingers and plants his elbows on the table, resting his chin atop the tips of his fingers. She’s not sure how to respond, and thinks for a moment that the Harry she’s known all along has been affording her his happiness, because he suddenly doesn’t look as cheerful as he’s been. Torn between rubbing his back consolingly and pouring him several successive cups of tea, Hermione just stares at him, the silence continuing to linger. 

A few days’ worth of stubble, a gash in his chin so small she’s never noticed it before, the indent of his glasses where they perch on his nose, deeper than she’d expect to see which means he’s been nervously pressing them into his face as he used to do when they were younger. His lips twitch toward the slightest frown and his eyes are barely pink, but he’s definitely not sleeping well. 

Merlin, how has she missed all of this? 

“Harry-”

He rubs his hands up and down his face, once and then twice as if to force himself to be present now. He turns to her, just a slight maneuver so that his legs are aiming towards her and his knee falls between hers. 

“She told me the day after it happened,” he says finally, too matter-of-factly, too detached. “Some random bloke while she was training in Belgium last year. She said she cried the whole time.”

Hermione’s hand is over her mouth and she’s sure she’s not breathing. She had no idea that Harry’d been through this, and some of the things she’s said about her own marriage, about Ron, about her sex life. Merlin, he must hate her for the things she’s told him. 

His lips quirk just a smidge at the corners. “She said it was the worst night of her life, if you exclude the obvious. And she apologized and she cried and, hell, I even begged her to fix it. I wanted to keep trying, to make it work for the kids.”

Hermione knows the story now. Their marriage is over. Harry is raising his children practically alone. She opens her mouth to tell him she’s pleased that it didn’t work, that an affair isn’t forgivable, but he keep talking and stops her dead in her thoughts. 

“Ginny was so sure I’d want to end our marriage that when I begged her to stay, she actually laughed. No, no,” Harry settles Hermione as she huffs and fires up, ready to call Ginny, someone she’s always loved, a bunch of nasty names. “No, Hermione, she asked me how I could try to save our marriage after what she’d done. She said my ‘saving people complex’ hasn’t gone away and that I needed to save someone else for a change.”

Hermione raises an eyebrow and drops her eyes from his. She picks at her sleeve and then swipes her hands against her jeans just to have something else to focus on. It takes all her willpower not to scowl, but she’s trying her damnedest despite the way her forehead wrinkles with the effort. 

“Ginny,” Harry breathes out an uncomfortable laugh, “she thinks I haven’t spent enough time trying to save  _ me _ .”

But, of course, Harry Potter, the selfless wizard who once trudged into a deadly, creature-infested forest and faced down the most vile wizard of all time, knowing he was going to die, has never been interested in the value of himself as a person. Hermione, thankfully, doesn’t hate Ginny as much as she did when Harry said the word ‘affair’. 

“She has a point.” Hermione chances a small smile and chews on her lip. “So, you divorced her because she wanted you to save yourself from a horrible marriage? Sounds a little like a trashy romance novel to me.”

He laughs, open and light, and he ruffles his hair so that it falls messily across his forehead. “Let me try it another way, you cheeky witch.”

She doesn’t mean to turn red immediately when his bright green eyes meet hers and crinkle playfully along with his entirely Harry smile, but it happens before she can even wish for it to stop.

“Ginny didn’t want to waste time trying to save a marriage that she knew, deep down, neither of us wanted anymore.” 

Hermione’s laugh is a sharp, humorless huff. “The exact opposite of Ron and I, you mean?”

“She forced me to consider myself, Hermione.” He scratches at the back of his neck and massages the skin there as he considers her. “I can’t fault her for it. It hurt like hell, but I forgave her.”

She sips her tea, not for comfort but for something to do as she considers what he’s saying. The tea has gone a bit too cold for her liking so she stands abruptly, nearly knocking Harry back in the process, and starts the kettle again. 

He seems okay. Tired, perhaps, but genuinely okay with everything he’s said. It certainly explains why he can do Christmas at The Burrow and laugh and smile with his ex-wife. It reminds her how much she’s not looking forward to Christmas in a few weeks’ time, sharing space with Ron and his entire family. She loves the Weasleys, always has, but she doesn’t have Harry’s penchant for forgiveness, not by half. 

Sure, he’s let himself go a tiny bit; he’s scruffier than he ever was and his hair does this chaotic swoop thing that he doesn’t bother to tame. But maybe she’s been wrong blaming Ginny for everything. Maybe he’s working too hard; he’s rarely home, really, and she’s gotten used to minding James and Albus while he’s working. Maybe she’s been too quick to assume he’s actually struggling with his divorce. Maybe he’s just struggling with the same thing every other adult struggles with: life.

He’s behind her as she stands guard over the kettle. Her fingers tap against the counter, nails too short to produce much noise at all. He’s so close that she can feel his warmth, she can hear every little breath coming from him, and she thinks he’s going to do something. Something big. Her nerves are lighting up with sparks and tingles starting at her toes, shooting through her body. She’s on edge. Her breathing stops. She hears him wet his lips. 

“I kissed you,” he reminds her softly, his breath fanning across her neck. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done it. Not then, not like that.”

_ Don’t overthink it. _ She squeezes her eyes shut and curls her fingers against the countertop. Hermione agrees with him, but it stabs at her heart to hear the words from him. His lips felt so right, like she’d been missing this feeling forever and it was perfect. But, she’s a mess. He doesn’t need a mess. Ginny’s right; he needs to consider himself and she’s definitely not what’s best for him right now. 

“I don’t regret it.” His hand is on her hip and his thumb toys with the band of her jeans almost absentmindedly. She feels his forehead against her shoulder and finally lets out the breath she’s holding. “But, I want you to consider yourself, Hermione.”

Because, like Harry, she’s been trying to save the wizarding world since she was eleven. Years have passed since the war, but she’s still trying to save everyone except herself. She smiles despite herself as his lips gently press against her skin where her shoulder meets her neck. A little ringlet of hair flutters under his breath and sends shivers through her. When Harry feels her reaction, he steps back. 

“I-” 

The kettle whistles and she rips it from the stove. The poxy thing practically flies out of her hand and she’s flinging boiling hot water all over her kitchen. Some water droplets land on her hand and she hisses before tossing the kettle into the sink. It sizzles and cracks against the porcelain, but she’s too busy hopping from foot to foot exclaiming about the burning sensation on her skin.

“Fuck, bloody ow, you  _ twat _ !” She curses at the kettle. It bloody stings.

“Excellent start.” Harry takes her by the elbow and leads her back into her seat. “You know when I said ‘consider yourself’, I meant immediately and without third degree burns?”

He’s pulling a salve from his pocket, because of  _ course _ he comes stocked with it, and applies it to the angry red marks on the back of her hand. He’s so gentle with her, meticulous as he dots the blue paste onto her and smooths it over with careful strokes of his thumb.

“I can hardly think anymore,” she whispers suddenly and he stops smoothing the paste for only a moment. “I’m always worried that I’m making the wrong choices and I don’t even know what my choices are anymore.”

“You’re brilliant, Hermione.” He smiles at her and places her hand on the table so that the salve can dry. “Whatever choices you  _ do _ make are always well informed and thought through to the point of insanity. You have so many choices.”

“Harry.” She’s serious, but she snorts a laugh. “I had a choice of accepting your help paying off my solicitor or working for Draco Malfoy. I chose  _ Malfoy. _ ”

“Point.” 

“Obviously I can’t be trusted to make choices.” 

“Except,” he smiles as he says it, just a little thing that teases her. “Owing money to Harry Potter is very much against every fiber of your being. Indebted to anyone, constantly worrying about paying me back, feeling uncomfortable at every family function. Those were your arguments.”

“Yes, I remember.”

And she did, clearly. He begged her to take his money, the money that sits in his vault untouched because he hasn’t figured out what to do with it. He pleaded with her to have peace of mind and just take it and not worry about it. But, she’s a stubborn witch and she doesn’t ever want that price tag hanging over her friendship. She’s independent. She’d figure it out, she told him. 

“And now you’re working for Draco.” She pinches her lips because he looks far too smug. Smug Harry is her least favorite Harry. “You won’t owe anyone money. You’ll spend more time with your kids. And you might even start to heal because you’ll get the hell out of this small flat instead of locking yourself in every day.”

“I do  _ not _ lock myself-”

“Come out with me next weekend then,” he spits it out quickly, as if he thinks she’s going to renege her words. “You haven’t been to a pub with me in ages and if you don’t lock yourself in then you’ll have no excuse, right?”

Damn. He has a point, but she hates pubs. Loud, smelly, crowded. Harry just loves them, of course, and as far as she knows he goes out with his friends from work and that’s always been enough. Why is he so eager to get her out to the pub now?  _ Don’t overthink it. _

“I hate the pub.” The burns on her hand are stinging less and she pulls her hand off the table to pick at a thread on her sleeve. 

“You hate leaving the house.”

“I don’t care for drinking.”

He’s tight lipped. “Ron wouldn’t let you drink.”

She gasps, outraged.  _ Let  _ her? “Let me! Harry, Ron never stopped me from drinking, he-”

Oh, bugger. Did he? When’s the last time she’s had a beverage? She counts on her fingers; months,  _ years _ ? Merlin, she’s had wine with dinner here and there, but she hasn’t touched anything else since… 

“Before Hugo.” The words escapes her in one, long breath. “I haven’t been to the pub since before I was pregnant with Hugo.”

She’s angry. It seeps in slowly and then it encompasses her entirely and all at once. Hugo is five bloody years old. Crikey, has that much time really passed since she’d gone with her friends to a pub? But she  _ hates _ pubs, doesn’t she? So maybe it just never came up and maybe it isn’t really Ron’s fault. A mutual decision…  _ except _ she knows Ron frequented the pubs while they were married. He went with everyone except for her. God, and sometimes she was just so happy that he was out of the house that she didn’t even care when he came stumbling through the floo at four in the morning. But to think that he’d actually kept her from drinking, without her even realizing that’s what he’d done! 

She’s livid. 

“We’re going to the fucking pub!” 

She stands up quickly and it’s the second time she nearly knocks Harry over. Rage blinds her as she starts to walk from the kitchen to her bedroom, but Harry stops her with a hand on her shoulder.

“Er…” he spins her around and gives her a crooked smile. “It’s Sunday.”

“And?” Her shrewd gaze narrows further. 

“And, if I’m not mistaken, you start your new job in the morning and I know for a fact that I have to meet with Kingsley at half eight.”

“So what you’re telling me is that we’re  _ not  _ going to the pub tonight?”

“Given that between us, we have four children who wouldn’t appreciate being left on their own all evening and two very important obligations very early in the morning… yes, that’s precisely what I’m telling you.”

Hermione, despite everything, simmers down immediately. He’s right, of course, they can’t very well leave their children unattended. But then - 

“Harry,” she asks curiously, “where are your children right now? Did you leave them at The Burrow after dinner with the Weasleys?”

“No, of course not.” A short burst of laughter escapes him, a nervous sound that fills her kitchen. He scratches his stubble and takes a breath. “James and Albus are with Draco.”

Her entire brain halts in its tracks. All the anger over Ron, all the confusion over the kiss, it’s all gone. 

Suddenly, she wonders if she even knows her best friend anymore. 


	5. This Is Perky

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have a lot going on this week, so I’m giving you the update early again just in case I can’t on Monday. :) Hope you enjoy!

She’s been in a funk since she forced Harry through the floo and told him she was done talking for the night. That’s twice in the same number of days she feels like she’s been barrel rolled by a dragon and it’s as nauseating as it is upsetting. Have they really been so detached from each other lately that she’s missed important things like Ginny’s affair and his friendship with Malfoy? And has he always wanted to kiss her – because he says he wants to do it again – or is that a new development, too? 

How much has she missed in the past seven years? Has trying to save the scant pieces of her marriage really eclipsed everything else going on around her? 

Hermione sighs. Tea and a picked-at muffin sit in front of her at the dinette table as she holds a quill firmly in her fingers. She has to inform her boss at the Ministry that she won’t be returning from her sabbatical after all, and of course she’s providing him no notice at all. But, what can she tell him? What reasons can she give? 

_ Sorry, sir, but I’ve actually gone mad and have decided to take up nannying children to former death eaters full time. You know how it is.  _

_ Oh, P.S., please don’t tell anyone lest my ex-husband finds out and properly hexes everything in a five mile radius. Cheers.  _

It’s too early in the morning for this. Draco expects her no later than eight AM. She woke up at half five like a crazy person and has sucked down three cups of tea and two muffins already. She’s showered, she’s changed clothes four times, and she’s wrestled her children into any semblance of matching attire she can find. 

She writes a simple note and summons a local owl to take it straight to the Ministry. Her shift starts in an hour and she’s already worried herself to the point of exhaustion. It’s time to be done with this chapter of her life and move onto the next. 

Her eyes rest on the clock while the rest of her body thrums from nerves. Officially, in an hour, she’ll be working as Draco Malfoy’s nanny. God, if her seventeen year old self, battle worn and hungry for the peace of adulthood, could see her now. She’d probably be riddled with stinging hexes. 

It’s half seven when she’s finally ready to leave for Draco’s home with her children. She thinks they’ll be a good distraction for Scorpius to have and hopefully they continue to play nicely as they had the previous night. Hugo demands to be clothed in his one and only button down shirt and proper slacks and then promptly begs his mum to buy more. Rose, however, begs to stay home. She doesn’t want to play with  _ boys _ . 

“I hate playing dragons and goblins, mum.” Rose pouts and clasps her mum’s hand as they step into the floo. “Boys are dis- _ gus _ -ting.”

Hugo leans around Hermione’s thighs and sticks out his tongue. Rosie responds by sticking out her tongue. Hermione clicks hers and rolls her eyes. 

“I shouldn’t need to remind either of you to be on your best behavior today.” She grabs a handful of floo powder. “This is mummy’s job now, alright? This is how we do fun things. Draco’s.”

“But-”

“-home.”

The appear suddenly in a familiar foyer with a familiar little house elf to greet them. Tink is adorned in a yellow daisy hat today as she leads them through the house to where Draco is, no doubt, waiting for them. 

“Master Draco,” Tink calls when she spots the tall, suited wizard standing at a large window overlooking what, Hermione assumes is, his land. “The Granger-Weasleys are here.”

Draco turns to face them. He looks taller in a formal suit, leaner and suave in a way that creates a swooping sensation deep in Hermione’s stomach. He’s folding the ends of his tie still, perfecting the knot and tightens it just below his adam’s apple. He smiles, a tight lipped thing that isn’t quite as open as it was the night before. 

She’s standing rather awkwardly, not sure where to place herself or her gaze, and it feels stranger today. Formal. Like a job. She chews her lip and places a hand on each of her children’s shoulders. 

“Rose and Hugo may go play with Scorpius in the den,” Draco says to Hermione and she finds it strange that he’s not directly addressing the kids as he did the previous night.

They glance up to Hermione and she nods quickly, her hands falling from their shoulders as they dash off to find Scorpius. She feels like she should call after them, tell them not to run, but it’s too late as they round the corner with their giggles chasing after them. The disgust Rose feels for boys is left behind and Hermione catches herself smiling after them instead of reprimanding them. 

“I thought this would give us an opportunity to discuss any questions or concerns you may have.” Draco reaches for his suit jacket that’s folded carefully over the back of a chair and pulls it on. 

“I’ve thought a lot about it,” she says as she watches him button only the middle clasp of the jacket. 

“Predictable.” His lips lift in another smile, it’s sort of crooked and can almost be confused for a smirk. “Come on, get it out then.”

“How are you so sure it’s negative?” She crosses her arms and her eyes snap to his. 

“You do know where Harry came last night after you kicked him out of your flat?”

The silence sits for a beat. She rolls his words around. Kicked him out. Harry came here. He thinks she’s responding negatively to their friendship, or whatever this is. 

“Is that why you’re moody? Because I kicked Harry - wait, you call him  _ Harry _ now?” 

Draco snorts through his nose. “Moody? This is not moody.” His words are crisp, deadpan. “This is perky.” 

She walks closer to him, a winged brow arched over one eye. “Your frown lines are too deep for perky.”

His shoulders rise and fall under a heavy sigh. “Listen, Granger, I’m really trying here. You’re brilliant with the kids and who else could I possibly consider to play a part in Scorpius’ life but the Gryffindor P-”

“Finish that sentence,” she pointed a threatening finger at him, “and I’ll teach your son everything I’ve learned from Fred and George Weasley.”

He laughs. Truly and fully. The tension that’s been suffocating the small space between them melts away. Her lips twitch and she unfolds her arms. 

“Let’s maybe leave Harry out of our arrangement,” she says after quiet falls around them again. “Can we do that? I won’t pry into your friendship and you don’t get moody with me about it.”

He considers her for a moment and then his eyes stray somewhere she can’t see, just over her shoulder. His lips pinch and eyes narrow momentarily, and then he slowly nods his head. When his eyes find hers again, they’re lit with the ghost of a smile on his lips. 

“Alright.” 

He lifts his chin and jerks it, a silent request that she follow him through the house. She trails just behind him and allows herself to finally take in her surroundings. The room they’re standing in is longer than it is wide. Its walls are a dark emerald color with white trim and it should be no surprise that his main seating area revels in his former house colors. There are so many seats, leather recliners and sofas, single chairs, and even a nook inlaid against the large window. It’s bright with natural sunlight and far more welcoming than she’d imagine his home to be. 

He leads her through the formal dining room, but she’s already familiar. The table, spanning its obnoxious size, is decorated as if it's not even meant to be used for meals. 

They enter the kitchen and she pales. Food is held in stasis in clear, metal pantries. She puts her hand to the glass and it’s cold against her fingertips. She tries to be discreet when she looks for the electrical plugs, but there are none, and his shoulders are shaking with a chuckle when her panicked eyes find him staring at her. 

“You cook the muggle way?” It’s not nasty as she’d expect, but filled with amusement as his gray eyes glitter. “Tink can give you pointers. She’s dead handy with food.”

Hermione swallows and doesn’t trust herself to speak just yet. Merlin; she’d been around pureblood families, she’s watched the meals they’ve prepared - Molly is a miracle worker in the kitchen - but she’s never really considered…  _ how _ .

“Come, I’ll show you Scorpius’ room and the playroom.”

He doesn’t allow her to dwell in her insecurities, but pushes her further into his home and his life. She learns that his house has four bedrooms, two living spaces, a den, a playroom, and a sunroom. The lands around his home are warded, they’re unplottable  _ and _ repel muggles. Everything about his house screams galloens and she’s suddenly very concerned that her more homely nature might not be up to the task of raising his heir. 

It takes them a little under a half hour to tour the entire place. He squats down next to Scorpius and ruffles the boy’s golden hair, gives him a long hug, and then makes his way to the floo with Hermione at his heels. 

“If you need anything, Tink can help,” he assures her as he steps into the grate. He’s so tall that he has to duck. 

“I won’t bother her.” 

She still doesn’t like the idea of using a house elf at her very whim; it feels wrong, but Hermione has given up that fight a long time ago. At least Tink seems well adjusted and happy, plus she gets to wear hats and bows. 

“Suit yourself, Granger. I’ll be home at five. You needn’t cook dinner.” 

She nods. There are things she wants to ask - medical information, emergency contacts, special idiosyncrasies that Scorpius might be prone - but when she opens her mouth, Draco tosses the powder to his feet and is gone in a flash of green light. 

“Right.” She stares at the empty floo for a moment, takes a deep breath, smooths her blouse, and turns from the room. 

The laughter of the kids flows through the house and Hermione isn’t quite sure what to do with herself while they’re entertained. She’s not meant to clean, not really, and his home is fairly spotless – probably thanks to Tink. Her stomach growls as she paces through the various hallways and as she passes by the playroom where the children are, Hermione pops her head into the room. 

“Hello loves.” She smiles at them and waits patiently for them to acknowledge her. They don’t, so she tries again, a little louder. “Hugo, Rose, Scorpius?” 

Hugo and Scorpius are battling each other with small, toy brooms that whiz around the room. Rose is trying to catch it and she’s flinging herself around as it just slips past her fingers time and time again. Their volume is increasing rather than decreasing and they are in fits of laughter and squeals. Hermione steps further into the room. She tries calling them out one by one. It’s a technique she’s had with all of the Weasley children for years.

“Rose.” The giggling redhead ignores her and jumps onto a small chair with a wide grin on her face. Hugo and Scorpius are egging her on. 

“Hugo.” Hermione feels the lick of frustration as it straightens her posture and pulls her hands to her hips. God, she’s so much like her mother and she groans when she realizes it. Hugo ignores her and crashes his tiny body into Scorpius, who falls backwards giggling and holding onto a small goblin-shaped toy. 

There’s chaos around her. Toys everywhere. Magical games whirring overtop the noise of the kids playing around. Hermione narrows her eyes and pulls her trusty wand from inside the lining of trousers and aims it at her throat.

“Sonorus,” she whispers, watching the children crash against a wall as if they’re a battering ram and all of Gringott’s galleons lie in wait on the opposite side. 

“Rose, Hugo, Scorpius.” 

Her voice bellows and echoes around in the tiny space. All three of the children stop immediately, almost comically. It takes a lot of willpower for Hermione to keep from laughing at them. Even through her frustration she adores them fiercely. 

Hugo is clutching Scorpius’ polo shirt between his small fists. He’s hovering over the blonde boy with his head angled at Hermione, eyes wide and filled with worry. Scorpius has his elbow pressed into Hugo’s chest to keep the boy from crashing on top of him and his lips are clasped tightly between his teeth. Rose, however, displays accidental magic. She hovers midair as she is bouncing from chair to ground toward the boys. Her hands are outstretched in a monstrous display, as if she’s a dragon and defending the goblins’ business. 

Hermione works quickly to lower her daughter gently to the ground and is beaming the entire time she casts Wingardium Leviosa. When Rosie lands she jumps around in place, hands clasping one another, and mirrors her mother’s huge smile.

“Mum! Did you see what I did?” 

“Rosie, did you just  _ float _ ?” Hugo sounds so impressed. 

“Woooooooooooooooooooooooow.” Scorpius wiggles out from underneath Hugo, his jaw open the entire time. He approaches Rosie with large gray eyes. “I’ve never done magic before. What’s it like?” 

Rosie blushes and she’s suddenly coy as her lip is pulled between her teeth. Hermione can practically see the wheels turning in Rosie’s mind to try and explain the sparks that tingle through her entire nervous system whenever a spell is used. Hermione remembers that moment well and regrets that she hasn’t felt that more in the previous years.

Rose sighs contentedly and her eyes flutter closed. “It’s like butterflies on my skin.” 

A beat passes. The boys rush around her and ask her a million questions, not even allowing her to answer one before they’re off onto another. Hermione leans back against the wall with her wand gripped firmly in her hand. It’s been so long since she’s felt the butterflies, as Rose calls it. She’s not sure exactly when they disappeared, but it’s been years and it makes her momentarily sad despite her daughter’s display. 

“Now that I have your attention,” Hermione says, small smile on her face as the kids finally turn to face her. “Who wants breakfast?” 

There are three eager, hungry, and excitable kids sitting around one end of a stupidly long, solid wooden dining table. Hermione isn’t there because she’s currently trying to figure out how the ever loving hell a magical kitchen works. She can hear the partial-shrieking of the kids as they discuss Rose’s accidental magic, but it’s more distracting than heartening when Hermione’s trying so hard to concentrate. 

Pancakes, sausage, eggs. It shouldn’t be so sodding difficult. She spends five minutes trying to figure out how the cooling box worked and then another five minutes trying to find ingredients. But when she looks around the kitchen and has no idea how the stove works, that’s when she panics. 

The more she worries, the frizzier her hair gets. It’s like a potions classroom in the kitchen, and even though it’s the dead of winter in northern England, somehow she’s managed to attract humidity. She pulls out her wand, at least partially certain that it’ll be necessary to cook in this strange kitchen. If all else fails she’s pretty confident she can transfigure something into a pan and conjure flames. 

Perhaps that’s how it works, after all. 

She transfigures a jar of pickled radishes into a pan and she creates a fire over the stove top since it has no knobs or any visible mechanism to turn it on. She’s not quite sure how to mix the pancake batter or whisk the eggs, but she’ll figure it out as she goes. She turns to the pancake mix and mutters about how archaic wizards can be. 

“Mum!” Rose calls to her from the dining room. “We’re starving and I think the boys are going mad!”

A sudden crash pulls Hermione from the kitchen and she stops in her tracks. Hugo and Scorpius are on opposite sides of the chandelier, tugging on it as if they’re playing tug-of-war. When Hugo’s feet leave the table, Scorpius bends at the knees and then flings himself into the air. 

She sees the scene play out in slow motion. Hugo lets go of his side. Rose shrieks. Scorpius flies high into the air. He’s coming down fast, his foot hits the table and he’s almost to the floor.

Her wand circles and jabs as if it has a mind of its own. She doesn’t bother muttering the spell, one she’s used so many times since becoming a mother. Just before Scorpius’ head hits the ground, his body stops. The room collectively breathes as he’s lowered softly to the ground. 

She’s no sooner sure that Scorpius is safe than the smell of metallic smoke filters into her senses. Dark smoke billows into the room and the children run away screaming. Hermione pulls her shirt over her nose and takes off into the kitchen where her makeshift pan is corroding under blue and orange flames. 

“Bugger, bugger, bugger!”

The fire explodes off the stovetop. She’s pretty sure her hair is singed and the sleeve of her jumper is scorched beyond repair. The fire continues to grow – a magical fire, how does one put out a magical fire? 

It used to be that magic sang to her, that it encouraged her movements and sparked ingenious ideas. Now, as she sits against a hard, wooden cupboard and stares at a steadily growing flame with fear in her eyes, she’s blank. There’s no whispering current of magic thrumming through her. She’s empty. 

By the time she remembers to cast Augmenti, there’s charred wood and broken jars everywhere around the magical stove. Her hair is its own entity, her clothes are covered in ash, and her face is shiny with sweat. Hermione slides down the frame of the doorway with her hands curled together and pressed to her chest. She stares at the mess across from her with wide, panicked eyes and she can’t catch her breath. There’s a rush of adrenaline coursing through her now. It feels like it’s trying to jump through her skin. 

“Hermione?” 

She turns her head slowly and lifts her chin, slowly taking in the green cargo bottoms and the white MoM – DMLE insignia-patched tee shirt. What’s most surprising – if you’re not counting Harry Potter randomly appearing again at her most desperate hour – is that she’s never noticed how his clothes fit him. When they were younger, everything he owned was baggy, hand-me-downs he’d said because his aunt and uncle cared very little if his cousin’s old clothing didn’t fit. Now that he can care for himself, his clothes fit enough that she can make out the taut torso beneath his shirt. 

As her eyes trail up to his chest – more muscular now after years of Auror work – she wonders how he’s not dating anyone and why he’d possibly choose to kiss her. Kissing Harry has probably ruined her for life.

Not really, but she’s very dramatic under duress. 

When she finally makes eye contact with him, she bursts into tears.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I split this chapter into two because it grew beyond my control. :) Thank you to everyone for the love on this fic - it means more than you know!


	6. Draco Malfoy’s Bedroom

“Hermione, what the hell happened?” He’s squatting next to her and he’s got this look of concern on his face that’s not helping her to feel any better. “Why did you explode Draco’s kitchen?” 

“I…” she gulps for air and shoves her fists into her eyes because she doesn’t want to cry but it just pours out of her. “I have to make the children breakfast.”

Harry gently holds her wrists and pulls her hands away from her eyes. He spares a second to inspect the scorched material of her jumper and the wild mane of hair around her head. His smile is small and encouraging, a kindness he’s never lost from his youth. It causes her lower lip to tremble because she feels like a prize idiot while he’s here being all Harry Potter, The Kindest Boy In The Land. 

“I’ve never cooked with a magical stove,” she gushes with quick breaths, attempting in vein to steady her emotions. “I didn’t know. Why can’t stoves just be sodding stoves? What’s this super fancy pureblood monstrosity? I can’t do this, Harry, I can’t-”

Harry’s here?  _ Harry’s here!  _ Hermione’s brown eyes are wide and the whites are tinged pink when she finally looks at him again, when she finally  _ sees _ him. How - 

“Harry!” She jumps up, nearly knocking Harry back as she’s prone to do these days - which, of course wouldn’t happen if he wasn’t always so close to her. “Why are you here? If Malfoy sent you to check on me because he doesn’t trust-”

Harry stands and puts his hands on her shoulders. Ducking his head down to peer into her eyes, he shakes his head and his raven hair swooshes messily above his glasses. 

“No.” He moves his hands gradually to her neck and wrestles with her wild curls until he’s gently framing her jaw in his hands. “Draco didn’t ask me to check on you. Rose floo’d-”

“The children!” She flings herself away from Harry, completely sidetracked and books it through various halls and rooms as she cries out for them. “God, what’ve I done? Why am I doing this? Kids! Rose? Shit.”

“Shit.” Hugo springs out of a door with a great big smile and his hands in the air as if to startle his mum. 

It worked. 

“Hell’s bells!” Hermione shouts and jumps and presses a hand to her chest. “Hugo! Did you just use a naughty word? Why were you hiding in the closet?”

Hugo shrugs. “You said it first, mummy.”

“We never say that word, okay?” Her breathing is slowing down as Hugo’s head nods. “Wonderful, okay. Now where are Rose and Scorpius?”

Her son shrugs again but then he’s grinning and pointing over Hermione’s shoulder. “Harry! Mum, Harry’s here! Can we play brooms, Harry?”

Hermione sighs as she feels Harry right at her back, so close. Her posture is rigid. This is too much. She’s overwhelmed. Where are the children? She takes off down another hallway without acknowledging Harry, though she hears him speaking with Hugo as she rounds a corner and enters another room. 

“We can play brooms at the weekend, buddy.”

“Rose?” 

The room she’s in is dark, blackout curtains drawn around the room. She lights the tip of her wand. Draco’s room. It’s massive. There’s a large bed and several windows covered by black curtains. A wooden wardrobe in the corner. Clothes everywhere; obviously Tink hasn’t cleaned this room. 

“I don’t think she’d come in here.” Harry’s behind her again and light chills tingle up her spine. It’s an odd feeling, like she’s on the brink of something but she doesn’t know what. 

“Right. Let’s keep looking.” She tightens her grip on her wand and maneuvers around Harry as best as she can without running him over. “Rose?”

“Mum!” Rose darts to her and wraps her arms around Hermione’s middle. “I thought you were dead.”

“Dead?” Hermione pulls her daughter back by the shoulder and chuckles a dark, brief thing that melts the tension in her shoulders. “Rosie, it was a little fire.”

“You looked stuck,” Rosie says and then bites her bottom lip. “I called Harry because I was scared and you said he’s good at saving people.”

Hermione hugs her daughter close and tries to ignore that Harry now has confirmation that she speaks to her children about their old adventures. They squeeze each other tight and Hermione pats her on the back.

“That was good, darling. You did perfectly.” She pulls away again. “Where is Scorpius?”

Rose shrugs, a trait she shares with Hugo, who Hermione is certain was learned from their father. But she doesn’t want to focus on that now. 

“Go find your brother and stay in the playroom, okay?” 

Rose barely agrees before she dashes off to the playroom. Hermione turns to Harry. 

“I can’t lose Malfoy’s heir on my first day.”

“We’ll find him,” Harry assures her. He takes the lead and walks through the house. 

It’s different than how she ran through it. It’s calculated, it’s knowledgeable. Like he’s been here before, many times. She doesn’t have a lot of time to dwell on its meaning, not yet, so she files this information away for another time. A time when she has the three children in her charge safe and sound.

“Scorpius?” Harry calls out for the young boy as he pushes open door after door and there’s still no sign of him. 

“He’s going to kill me.” Hermione checks behind a door and comes up blank. “Malfoy is actually going to curse me and then Avada me for losing his child and ruining his kitchen. It’s my first day, for heaven’s sake and-”

Harry holds up his hand, one finger comes down to his lips and he walks fully into a room - the loo. There’s a shadow behind the curtain of the tub and a little figure that appears to be shaking. 

“Scorpius?” Hermione walks into the loo, past Harry and his shushing fingers. “Are you alright, sweet?”

She yanks the curtain back. She’d assumed Scorpius was shaking out of fright, but what she sees of the blonde boy now, shoulders moving up and down slightly, hand pressed to his lips, eyes squeezed shut: He’s laughing. 

Behind her, Harry bursts out laughing. She turns to him briefly with a narrowed gaze - decidedly unamused - and he clamps a hand over his mouth. 

“What are you doing hiding in here?” She asks Scorpius, an edge of worry and faux-playfulness on top of her genuine curiosity. “We’ve been looking everywhere for you.”

“Father hid here once,” Scorpius informs her proudly. “Fire doesn’t like water.”

He reaches over and turns the nozzle for the water and the shower head immediately begins to spray water everywhere. Hermione jumps back into Harry’s chest and he steadies her with his hands on her hips. 

“Turn it off!” Hermione shrieks and spins into Harry’s chest. 

Harry turns the nozzle with his wand and syphons water off Scorpius’ clothes. He’s dead handy with his wand, Hermione realizes; it’s instinct for him now whereas she always has to work at it and push herself to perform it. Tables have turned so far from their youth. She files this information away for later, too. 

“Let’s get them fed and we’ll chat,” Harry suggests as he motions for Scorpius to follow. “You lot have cereal for breakfast - you know how to grab the cereal and the milk, Scorpius?”

Scorpius nods proudly and skips ahead of them. 

“Come sit down and breathe, Hermione.” Harry guides her to the living room and steers her backwards onto the sofa. “Look, you’re doing fine. It happens. Take a deep breath.”

“It happens?” She lifts an eyebrow. “Harry. I destroyed the kitchen. I lost a child and wouldn’t have found him had you not been here. I couldn’t feed the little beasts and my own child swore!”

“Would you please just take a deep breath?” 

Harry crouches down in front of her and lifts his chin so that he’s staring her in the eyes. He sets the pattern of breathing he wants her to follow and encourages her with a nod as she follows along. 

Feeling returns to her fingers. Wind stops whooshing through her ears. Her heart, while still thrumming a mad song inside her chest, is no longer erratic and in her throat. Clarity comes to her in small pieces and as it fits together, she’s a mess again. 

“Oh my god,” she groans and puts her head into her hands. “I’ve been in Draco Malfoy’s bedroom.”

Harry laughs, deep and full. “You have.”

“It’s… weird.” 

“Listen, Hermione,” Harry’s still chuckling as he places hands on her knees and rubs small circles on them with his thumbs. “There are worse things than finding your way into Draco’s bedroom.”

She widens her eyes and inhaled sharply. 

“The entire home could have caught on fire, for example.” He says it with a lopsided smirk, like he knew that her mind had immediately went to a much different place. “Or, you could have actually lost Scorpius.”

She takes a chance and Hermione places her hands on top of Harry’s. “I know. You’re right. I think it’s just so overwhelming. And I’m expecting Draco to come home and go ballistic over everything and even if he doesn’t, what if he just comes back and tells me all of these terrible things he  _ knew _ I’d get wrong?”

“Hermione.” He flips their hands around and wraps their fingers together. “I’ve already fixed the kitchen. He’ll never know. And as far as Scorpius goes, he got a laugh out of it; he’s not going to tell Draco you lost him.”

“But-”

He squeezes his hand. “But nothing. You’re nervous. You’re in a new environment. You’re doing the best-”

“He’s going to fire me. I’d fire me.” She closes her eyes and leans back. “I take care of my kids every day and not once have I set anything on fire.”

“You’ve watched Albus and James, too,” he reminds her. He stands, refusing to let go of her hands, and sits down next to her. Their hands are joined in his lap and she’s trying not to think of that, too. 

“Merlin, is this what being friends with Malfoy is like, or only when you’re employed by him?” 

“He’s got a way of making you want to-”

“Run away and hide?”

Harry chuckles. “No. Listen, I’ve been friends with Draco for a while now and he just makes you… better, somehow.”

“That’s not at all the vibe I get.” Hermione sighs. “How did you become such good friends with him, anyway? You never mentioned it.”

“Ginny and I split around the same time that Astoria got sick.” He plays with their fingers, fidgeting and pinching his lips. “We were too fucked off with things that we couldn’t even insult each other. We just… got along. Quite by mistake, really.”

She smiles for the first time in what feels like hours. “And I couldn’t know because…?”

“Between Ginny’s affair and Astoria’s malediction, neither of us wanted the attention in the press and so we kept our friendship quiet.”

“Okay.” 

“You’re not angry?” He peers over at her curiously, the honest shock of surprise in his eyes as he considers her face carefully. 

She thinks about it. Anger isn’t her first feeling, she decides, so she shakes her head. She’s concerned that she hasn’t been there for Harry when he needs her, so she’s annoyed at herself. She’s confused by this unlikely friendship and how they’ve managed to hide it from everyone. She’s happy Harry had someone to confide in if it wasn’t her. But no, she’s not angry. 

“Thanks for your help today.” There are a lot of things she can say to Harry, a lot of questions she can ask, but instead she settles on gratitude. “I don’t know what I would have done if you hadn’t showed up.”

He yanks her over and forces her into a cuddle. She doesn’t fight it, but laughs against his chest. He’s wrapping his arms around her and she’s inhaling his cologne; a spicy and outdoorsy sort of smell that reminds her of Harry as soon as it hits her nose. She smiles into his shirt and relishes in the feel of his scruffy chin against her forehead. This is the Harry she likes the best. Unafraid of affection and always, always there. 

Hours later, Harry is gone and Hermione is in the living room waiting for Draco to return. It’s five o’clock and she’s come to understand he’s a punctual person, so she has the children arranged perfectly and she’s put a spell on her hair to hide the ridiculous waves of it. She wants him to really believe she’s done a great job today. 

Ten thousand galleons rests on it. 

She’s seated with her ankles crossed, hands folded on her lap, while the children color in books depicting various magical creatures. It’s quiet in the house and there’s barely a hint of the chaos that ensued only hours before. Peaceful, almost. 

The green flash of the floo lights up the hallway and Hermione’s heart begins to hammer. She doesn’t let it show, but she swallows around a dry lump in her throat and quickly smooths her hands across her slacks. 

When Draco walks in the room, his suit coat is slung by a finger over his shoulder and his tie is loosened at his collar. Hair falls across his forehead as if he’s run his fingers through it so many times that all of the care he’d taken to style it has been removed. 

He isn’t in the room more than three seconds before Scorpius jumps up and darts at his father’s legs. His little arms wrap around Draco’s legs and she watches Draco’s lithe form nearly topple with the impact. She smiles as Draco tosses his coat overtop the closest chair and reaches down to pull his son up.

“Come on now, Scorpius,” Draco says with a playful lilt in his voice, “Miss Hermione wasn’t that bad, was she?”

Scorpius wiggles against his father and grins. “Miss Hermione is brilliant! Did you know that she rode a dragon once?”

Draco glances at her over his son’s head. Despite the amused expression on his face, Hermione can tell that he’s exhausted. His smile is there, but stretched and forced in a way most parents tend to do, and his eyes are different than they’d been this morning; less sparkle, more pink. 

“That’s quite a story,” Draco says as he brings his gaze back to Scorpius. “Will you go get washed up for dinner? I’d like to speak to Brilliant Miss Hermione before she leaves this evening.”

Hermione’s ears begin to buzz. Shit. Did Harry tell Draco, despite their conversation, about all the ways she failed this morning? Maybe Tink was monitoring her and told Draco. Oh Merlin, she’s going to lose her job and that ten thousand galleon bonus, she just knows it. Why did she send her resignation to the Ministry already? Horrible idea. 

Draco sets his son down and the boy takes off like a snitch. Hermione stands from the sofa and follows Draco to the opposite side of the room where her kids are coloring. He leans against the wall, hands stuffed into his pockets. 

“Did he give you much trouble?” 

He sounds so concerned and it throws her off. If anything, he should be asking if she’d given him much trouble. It’s almost laughable. 

“Oh, no, he’s a gem, truly,” she exhales the words in sheer relief. “He’s wicked clever and he’s very fun. Hugo likes him an awful lot and he and Rose get along very well.”

“Good.” Draco crosses his ankles and glances down at the ground at their feet. “Listen, Granger, I transferred the ten thousand galleons to your account this afternoon. I know we said we’d wait the first week-”

“You really want me to stay?” She doesn’t mean to sound so surprised but it pours out of her with abandon. 

“Anything you want to tell me about today?” His eyebrows are high on his forehead when his eyes meet hers again. She blushes, unable to help herself. 

“No, no,” she assures him with what she believes is a very convincing lie. His lips twitch. She bites her lip before continuing. “I mean, I had a, er, difficult time with your kitchen, and could use some lessons on how to make it work, but I’m sure Tink can-”

“I can show you.” 

They stare at each other for a long moment. Silence is the only thing between them. Her eyes flit over his face, taking in every dip and curve and edge. He’s got more color to his face than she remembers; he always seems more pale in her recollections. And his lips, always so thin in her thoughts are actually quite full. The planes of his cheeks drop into a sharp jaw and she’s sure she can make out the start of his stubble if she concentrates on it hard enough. 

She’s about to ask if he really just offered to teach her how to cook in a -  _ his _ \- magical kitchen, when Hugo rushes between them and stares up with his neck craned at Draco. 

“Shit.”

Hermione gasps. Draco’s eyes are wide and on her as she reacts. Her face is scarlet as she scoops Hugo up into her arms and calls for Rose. 

“Perhaps another time, Malfoy, I’m sorry. We must be going. Clearly someone,” she pokes her fingers into Hugo’s side until he’s giggling from being tickled, “needs a good verbal lashing for his language.”

“Indeed,” he chuckles and she can almost see the muscles in his stomach clench as he holds in more laughter. “Tomorrow at eight, then?”

“Right.” As Hugo wiggles in her grasp, she turns away. “See you in the morning, Malfoy.”

“Perhaps a Scourgify to the mouth, Granger?” He calls after her as she rounds the corner to the floo. 

“Good old fashioned muggle soap!” She replies as she steps with her children into the floo. 

“Mummy, no! Not again!” 

Green flames carry the Granger-Weasleys out of Malfoy’s home, but Hermione swears that as the flames whoosh around them, Draco’s laughter is following her home. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m entirely overwhelmed at how much you all love this story, and I’m enjoying all your thoughts and comments so much! I’ll be catching up on comments this evening, but thought I’d throw this chapter out first. XD


	7. Grieving Again

It’s a long week and she’s so happy that it’s Saturday. She’s sore. Her muscles ache in places she’s fairly certain there’d never been muscle before. She’s running entirely on tea. She’s exhausted. Her hair is growing outward at the exact rate of her insomnia plus tea consumption; it’s ghastly and even pulling it into a bun requires effort she just doesn’t have. 

She’s staring at her ceiling. Her neck is perfectly cradled against her pillows, her yellow comforter pulled up around her chin. She’s in heaven. It’s silent. It’s still. Her nerves are relaxing, breathing, calming. Magical, that’s what seven o’clock in the morning on a Saturday is. 

Until it’s not and there are two hyperactive, excitable children playing bounce house on her springy mattress. She takes a moment, closes her eyes, and reminds herself that it won’t be this way forever; they’ll grow and they’ll fight every ounce of fun she tries to force them into. So, Hermione rises from her comfortable cocoon and grasps Rosie around the waist and begins to tickle her mercilessly. She relishes the shrieking giggles, the way her little feet kick as she wiggles and thrashes about. 

Hugo bounces, laughing, and says, “Me, mummy! Tickle me, too!”

The sound of her children’s screechy laughter is soothing. It’s a reminder that she’s making her choices for them and the only thing that matters is their happiness. She’ll gladly throw herself in front of the Knight Bus if it means they’re happy and healthy. 

It takes her only a few minutes to convince Hugo and Rose that it’s time for breakfast. They all traipse into the kitchen together and Hermione lets them help her make pancakes and eggs. It’s something she used to love doing with her parents on Saturday mornings and she’s hoping to pass the tradition down to her own children. Over the course of seven years, it’s hurt less and less that her parents’ memories will never come back, that they have no idea who she is. But, she sees them both in the eyes of her children and that is enough for her. She’s been done weeping about it for years and though tears still prickle her eyes once and a while, she’s over the worst of her grief. 

“Mummy, is dad coming today? Are we going to Nanny Molly’s?” Hugo has pancake batter smeared all over his face. 

She wants to laugh at her silly boy, but it feels as if someone’s sucker punched her in the gut.  It’s been such a hectic week, that she's forgotten entirely about Ron. He’ll be coming to get them and take them overnight. The wonderful bliss of a morning off of work is suddenly drenched in lament that she’ll have to part with her children. 

“Yes, darling,” she forces out as pours the pancake batter onto the griddle. “Dad will be here to pick you up and I bet he’ll take you to The Burrow, too. I think he said something about Uncle George’s joke shop as well.” 

“Brilliant!” Hugo throws his fist into the air. “I’m going to try the puking pastilles this time. Albus says they make you puke  _ everywhere _ .”

“That’s gross.” Rose flips the pancake and frowns at her brother. “Mum, are all boys so gross?” 

Hermione laughs. “They grow out of it. Sometimes.” 

“James doesn’t like puking pastilles.” 

“James is a bugger.”

“Hugo!” Hermione points her spatula at Hugo and narrows her eyes. “That’s very unkind. How would you like to be called names? Where on earth are you learning all of this foul language?”

To his credit, Hugo frowns at the ground and pouts his bottom lip. “Dad said that Mister Draco is a bugger.”

“Isn’t he a git?” Rose plates a pancake and Hermione pours more batter into the pan. “I thought you said Mister Draco is a git. Can he also be a bugger?” 

She’s torn between being livid and amused. Rose and Hugo are so innocent, she knows they mean no harm with their words. But, Ronald. He’s teaching them rather hateful things to say and especially about the man Hermione works for. Secretly. Because she still hasn’t found the gumption to tell anyone except Harry that she’s Draco’s nanny. 

“Even if he  _ is _ a git and a bugger,” she says calmly through a steady breath, “it’s still not okay to say so out loud. Am I understood?” 

“Yes, mum,” they answer in unison. 

Only a few hours pass and Ron floos into her living room. He doesn’t call ahead, he doesn’t give her a time he’ll be by, and he’s an hour late based on the previous three times he’s picked up the children. It infuriates her, but Hermione swallows it down and puts on her best smile in front of the kids and ushers them into the room. 

“You’ll have them back tomorrow evening?” Hermione squats down next to Hugo and tugs his shoes onto his feet. “Do you know what time?”

“Not sure. Probably around half six.” Ron ruffles the red hair atop his daughter’s head and smiles at the girl’s shrieks as she tries to fix it. “Why don’t you take your brother through the floo, pumpkin? I’ll follow you through after I have a word with mum about Christmas.” 

She’s still not used to it, being in a room alone with Ron Weasley. Dread pools in her stomach as she looks at him and wonders which Ron she’s going to get today. He doesn’t appear to be upset or having a bad day. He’s put together nicely; a pair of dark trousers and a green jumper. His hair is windswept, but he keeps it that way – roguish – these days. He’s even shaved the small amount of scruff that was growing on his face, leaving a smooth and well-kept appearance. Usually when he takes care of his outward appearance, he’s in a good place and she can count on him behaving amenably. 

It also helps that he doesn’t smell like he’s slept in a pub. 

Merlin, she can’t remember the last time she hasn’t looked at Ron and wondered if he’d rip her to shreds. Sometime in the past seven years, he’s developed a razor-sharp tongue and knew which of her insecurities to play on to keep her devoted to him. It happened so quickly, or perhaps so subtly, that she couldn’t defend herself against it. And she had no one around her to see what was happening, to wake her up. It was only when she’d talked to Harry just under a year ago that she realized she wasn’t Hermione Granger, War Heroine, any longer. It was only his concern for her that drove her to look at the bigger picture. It was Harry’s pensieve that showed her. 

And then it took her ages to actually act on the information, because what if she’d been wrong? 

How long does it take someone to lose who they are? Hermione thinks it happens quicker than anyone would guess, slowly at first and then suddenly all at once. When she stood upon the rubble of Hogwarts with her two best friends, she was happy, perhaps exhausted and battle worn, but relieved and hopeful and still herself. Sometime between then and now, she’s changed. And she thinks she knows when it happened, but the pieces of  _ how _ are still falling into place. 

It's moments like these, when she’s face to face with every poor decision she’s made along the way, that she truly laments for everything she’s lost. Adulthood is fine, but she misses feeling as if she’s a required component of someone’s life. Sure, she has her kids but that’s different; they have her and are stuck with her. At one time, Harry chose her to be by his side and Ron chose her to be his wife. Now, she’s caught in a never ending crisis of wondering if anyone truly has a use for her outside of being a mother. 

It’s the worst feeling, not only because it’s not who she is, not who she’s ever been. It’s the worst because she doesn’t have an answer and she can’t see the bigger picture. She’s given up her dream of becoming Minister for Magic, for changing the world that she helped to save. All that’s left of her is this person who she doesn’t really know or understand at all. And she’s desperate to find herself again, to get in touch with the Hermione she knew all those years ago. 

“Hermione, are you paying attention, love?” Ron has her chin in between his fingers and he’s guiding her gaze to his. She wants to flinch at how earnest it is, how worried he seems. That’s not the man who’s stared back at her before and she’s confused and hurt and wondering what she’ll possibly do to bring that Ron back to the surface. 

“Sorry, sorry,” she mumbles through barely open lips. “I’m very tired, Ron, and I don’t really want to talk about this right now.” 

“Christmas is only a few weeks away,” he reminds her. She watches the color of his face change from a tan, golden sort of hue to pink. That’s her first indicator that she needs to tread carefully. So, she presses her lips together and takes a steady breath. “We can’t keep putting it off. It’s our first year with the kids and the divorce and I know Harry and Ginny have dinner at The Burrow with mum and dad and everyone.” 

She nods. Of course they do. Ginny is lovely and she’s not the horrible things that Hermione believed she was only a week ago. But this, with Ron, isn’t the same. It’s toxic in a way that’s harmful to her. Molly, while understanding and supportive through the entire divorce, is stern and pointed and her remarks are critical. Ron doesn’t help; he points out all of the things about her that made their marriage difficult and no one can see – why can’t they see everything she’s given up for him only to have it thrown to her feet. She’s meaningless, she’s less than, she’s everything she fought against as an adolescent. 

“I just don’t know if it’s a good idea for you to be there.” 

Ron’s words wash over her and for a moment, a solitary beat of a breath, she’s relieved. It’s not that she doesn’t love the Weasleys, or that she’s unwilling to be in a room with Ron, but Christmas at The Burrow is loud and crazy and there are so many emotions on all the time that she’s not sure she can handle it yet. 

“I’ll take Rose and Hugo with me.” 

Her eyes snap open. She wrenches her chin from his grasp and takes a step back. Alarm bells are ringing in her ears and she can’t get enough oxygen to her lungs. He wants Rose and Hugo at Christmas and he doesn’t want her there. It’s something she should have known was coming but never could have imagined.

“Ron, I don’t think –“ 

“Think about it,” he cuts her off with an assertive tone and a stupid, big smile. “The solicitors said we could figure this part out together, right? That was your idea. I’m just saying that I think it’s important for them to visit my family on Christmas. They’re not going to want to just spend Christmas here alone, are they?”

She swallows and fights the sting in her eyes. She doesn’t need reminding that her family is very small these days. The kids. That’s all she has, really. Her parents… a long breath leaves her slowly and she clamps her mouth closed. 

“Hermione.” Ron steps back into her space and places a hand on her cheek. It’s supposed to be tender, affectionate, empathetic. But it’s not. It feels more like a cold slap of anger and she closes her eyes to try and gather her wits and push him away. “I’m not saying that it’s bad here with just you. The kids love you. It’s just that, well, they need more than just their mum on Christmas and your parents aren’t around.” 

The tears she’s trying to keep back flood out of her. “That has nothing to do with –”

“Yes, it does.” He’s firm again, no room for her to argue. “It’s Christmas. A time for family. You can’t keep them from experiencing family just because you don’t –“ 

Hermione snaps. 

“Don’t you dare finish that sentence, Ronald Weasley, or so help me I will remove your testicles and replace them with your eyeballs.” 

She removes herself from his vicinity, several paces away. She puts the sofa between them, because she’s not sure if she’ll hex him or if he’ll hex her. He’s bright red and she knows that her breath is shaky. She’s furious and he’s done being kind. 

“What’s your problem?” His hands are out to his sides and then attach to his hips, just shy of the edge of his jumper. She knows this stance, it’s his ‘feign ignorance’ stance where he forces her to articulate all of the horrible things she’s thinking and every single time he’s done it since the fall of Voldemort, she’s backed down. 

Not today. 

She straightens her shoulders and narrows her eyes. “You. You, Ron, are my problem.” 

He has the audacity to look surprised that she’s so blunt, but Hermione blows right past it and doesn’t let it give her pause for even a second. 

“You’ve taken so much from me. Do you have any idea what I’ve sacrificed for you over the past seven years? I should be working with Harry at the Ministry, working my way up through the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, and instead I was filing away paperwork! I was spending my talents on proofreading and rewording bills before they saw the Head’s desk. I didn’t make any difference at all because you expected me to be here!” 

Ron holds up his hand. “Hang on! You can’t blame all of that on me! You were so fucking broken after… after the war and your parents and when Harry and Ginny got married, you were a fucking wreck!” 

“I was grieving, Ron!” Her yell tears her throat and the tears that are falling down her face get into her mouth and it burns, but she pushes through it. “I needed time to process everything that happened to us. I needed my job. I needed you. I didn’t need whatever the hell you did to me!” 

Ron takes a step forward and Hermione backs up into the wall. There’s still a fair amount of distance between them but she’s still glancing left and right to see where she’ll run if he comes any closer. He senses it, she can see his face fall when he realizes she’s looking for somewhere to run. She’s thankful he recognizes it, but she’s still holding her breath. 

“Hermione.” Her name falls off his lips in a desperate way that eases the tension in her shoulders. She tries to remind herself that this is what he does, but she’s so eager to have the whole fight over with that Hermione lets her guard down. “I asked you to work normal hours. I asked you to be home with our children more. I asked you to set a good example for them. And I asked you to take care of yourself. You can’t fault me for all of that.” 

“No,” she whispers, shaking her head minutely. “You didn’t ask, Ron. You systematically removed those things from me. You fought with me about work constantly. You were jealous of everyone at the pub because I was happy when I was with our friends but not when I was at home. Because at home I was stewing on everything we lost and you never, ever  let me forget it.” 

She breathes and she cries but she’s not letting up. “ _ Your parents are gone forever, Hermione. Harry and Ginny are busy with work, Hermione. Your children need you here, Hermione. No one understands what you’re going through, but I do, Hermione _ . Those are things you said to me, Ron. They’re not uplifting or encouraging!”

“They were bloody true! Merlin, Hermione, what the fuck is the matter with you?” Ron throws his hands up and then he throws himself down on the sofa with a great huff. “You’re acting like a damn mental case.” 

For a moment, she considers using her wand to knock him out and throw him through the floo. The satisfaction would be wonderful, but she simply takes a deep breath and meets him on the sofa. A safe distance between their bodies. 

“You truly don’t see what it is you did to me?” 

“I mean…” He frowns and scratches the back of his neck. He shrugs and sighs. “I, well, I’m a jealous bloke, you know? Everything else came first; work, your friends, the kids. I never, ever came first.” 

“You controlled absolutely everything I did, Ron.” She pulls her feet under her butt and tucks wild curls behind her ear. “You still act like… like you have a say over me.”

“Don’t I?” One corner of his lips lift in a smile. “A little bit, Hermione. I’ll always have a say over the children.”

And here they are, again, back to every fear she’s had since she decided to divorce Ron earlier this year. He’s always going to have a say, he’s always going to be a looming presence in her life, and just that tiny bit of control that she’ll never be able to be free from. Hermione wipes at the tear tracks on her face and sniffs. She’ll never, ever be who she was before. That Hermione is gone. 

And she’s grieving once again. 

“I want the children for Christmas,” he tells her firmly. Ron reaches over and places a hand on her knee and pats it gently. “If you want to come to The Burrow, I won’t stop you. But I get Christmas because I have family that want to see them. I’ll drop them off on Boxing Day, alright?”

He stands. She says nothing. Her eyes are resting on a spot just at his feet and she refuses to look him in the eyes. Her mind is fuzzy and it feels as if she’s got fiendfyre raging through her body. It hurts. She feels sick. But, she doesn’t argue. 

“I’ll see you tomorrow. Try and get some rest, yeah?” His fingers run through her curls and she holds her breath. “You can’t show up to work on Monday looking like that.” 

He leaves her like this, a shell of what she was when she woke up this morning. It’s two entirely different people and she doesn’t know how to reconcile them at all. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No Harry or Draco in this one, but an important scene with Ron that needed to happen. I decided to post this chapter early so that you don’t have to wait a full week before... this: 
> 
>  
> 
> Her face burns a deep red. “So… you cook on pans?”
> 
> “Merlin’s beard, Granger. We’re wizards, not cavemen. Of course we cook on pans, you silly witch.” Draco is shaking his head and chuckling. “A magical stove just requires a little spell work to get it going, that’s all.”
> 
> “You couldn’t have just said that to begin with?” Hermione sighs and shifts her weight from foot to foot. She feels like a complete knobhead. 
> 
> “And miss that blush on your face?” He smirks and, if possible, she is redder than before. “Not on your life, Hermione.”


	8. Chudley Canons Winter Classic

Harry finds her on the sofa in exactly the same position as when Ron left. She’s not sure how long she’s been there, but the light through the window is less intense than it had been. Perhaps a couple of hours? She really isn’t sure. She’s also not sure what he’s doing here today because they didn’t have plans. There’s no real curiosity to ask, though. She’s entirely drained. 

He kneels in front of her and presses his hands to her thighs.

“Hermione?” 

She just keeps staring at the same spot on the wall that’s held her attention since Ron left. The same things keep playing in her mind; no children at Christmas, no Burrow – because how could she, really? – and the constant nagging feeling that she’s the one who brought all of this down on herself. He said as much, hadn’t he?

“What has he done to you now?” Harry sits on the sofa now and he pulls Hermione into his chest. His thumbs try to work out the tension in her back, kneading the muscles carefully as he holds her close. “Hermione, can you hear me?”

She can’t speak, but she nods. Every time she tries to say words to Harry, her throat constricts and something inside of her screams for her to shut up. It’s the worst she’s felt in a very long time and she’s scared that maybe she’s finally cracking. 

“Whatever he’s said to you, it’s not true.” Harry continues caressing her softly. His movements are varied, not allowing her to be lulled into one sensation for too long. She wonders how he knows this is what she needs. “I don’t know what happened, but Merlin, Hermione, I need you to please talk to me. I’m worried about you.” 

“Why are you here?” Her voice is small and she’s not quite sure the words make it out of her mouth. Not until he answers. 

Harry rests his chin on top of her head and she imagines that his eyes are closed. “I knew you didn’t have the kids tonight and Draco and I were wondering if you’d want to have dinner.” 

Draco and I. Dinner. They were already together and maybe they thought she shouldn’t be alone. So different to her conversation with Ron. Ron, who wants her alone at Christmas and is taking everything away from her one piece at a time. She wants to ask Harry when he and Draco started having dinners, but she doesn’t. She doesn’t think she can stomach hearing that somehow Draco Malfoy has become Harry’s best friend. It might kill her. 

“The kids are with us,” he says as if it’s an explanation. “We’re listening to the quidditch and making dinner. We thought, maybe…” 

“Draco wants me there for dinner, too?” Her voice is monotonous, so quiet and lacking any character at all. She can’t imagine a world in which Draco Malfoy invites her over for supper where he’s not paying her to be there. Why does he care? He’s never cared before.

“It was his idea.” Harry pulls away and ducks down to look in her eyes. It takes her a moment to focus on him, but she finally sees the green eyes through the glasses and so much scruff on his face that she has to wonder if he even knows how to shave. “With everything happening this year, we’re all a bit… out of sorts.”

She hiccups through a breathy laugh. One way to put it. Harry Potter, ever the delicate man with words. 

“You two are awfully close now, huh?” She licks her lips and can feel how chapped they’ve become from the crying. “It’s weird.” 

Harry shrugs and curls his fingers gently into her shoulders. “It is what it is. Right time, right place, or whatever. Will you come have dinner with us and the kids? James and Albus haven’t spent time with you in ages and Scorpius can’t stop talking about Miss Hermione.” 

He’s smiling at her in that Harry way, where her heart skips a beat and she feels something warm start to blossom in her gut. It’s strange; the past week has been unlike anything she’s ever known with Harry and part of her is curious how everything changed so quickly. It feels like something big is happening, but the more she dwells on it, the scarier the idea becomes. 

Before her thoughts spiral, Harry stands and yanks her from the sofa. She hasn’t moved in so long that her joints are stiff and it takes her a moment to gain her bearings. Harry encourages her forward and she smiles at the ridiculous way he twirls her in a circle before wrapping his arms around her shoulders and buries his face into her crazy mane of hair. 

“It’s going to be okay, Hermione. Whatever happened, whatever happens, I’m here for you and I’m going to make sure that you’re okay.” 

She squeezes him around the middle and tries not to let any tears loose. She swears that she’ll have no more tears left to cry soon, but as a few escape on Harry’s Wispbourne Wasps shirt, she doesn’t think they’re any more sad than they are relieved. 

“Come on. If we’re too late, he’ll get snarky and it’s probably best to avoid that.” Harry’s chuckling and it has an immediate effect on her. She laughs, too. 

It’s strange, she thinks, that she’s so familiar with Draco’s home. She knows how to get from the floo room to the den, from the den to the kitchen. She’s even found several little nooks and crannies, little short cuts, that she thinks might be secret if not entirely off limits. So when she follows Harry, it’s just a natural occurrence rather than not knowing where to go. 

When they reach Draco, he’s in the kitchen and the sight of it is nothing like she’d ever expect to see. Low rising jeans barely cling to his hips, a black shirt hangs off his body, he’s barefoot, and there’s a small hand towel draped over his shoulder. His hair is a mess, untidy and sweeping across his forehead. And, most out of place, is a welcoming smile that somehow also says ‘mention the bare feet and I’ll hex you.’ 

He greets her kindly as Harry leads her into the kitchen. She’ll never get over the truce they’ve come to or the friendship they’re seeming to build through her employment. He’s really not so bad, as Harry had told her when she applied for his nanny position. The Draco Malfoy she’d known at school still lurked behind his eyes and in his smirk and the way he holds himself – proud, elite – but nothing cruel or malicious is even hinted at as he lifts his lips in return of her smile. 

“I thought tonight would be a good night to keep my promise to you,” he tells her in a way of saying hello. “I promised you I’d teach you how to cook on a magical stove, so I hope you wore clothes that breathe and have your wand with you?”

It used to be second nature to carry her wand and for a moment, she panics thinking that she doesn’t have it on her person. Then, she remembers nearly hexing Ron in her living room and unsheathes the wood from her pocket. 

“Good. Potter, leave.” 

Hermione’s eyes are wide as she watches Harry turn around immediately and leave them to the kitchen. Harry’s never been one to be pushed around, so it’s odd to think that Draco gives him one order and away he goes. It’s interesting, she thinks, considering his tone with Harry was one of command and his tone with her is soft. She smiles despite herself and watches as Draco considers her with a small twitch at the corner of his lips. 

“He’s a menace in the kitchen,” Draco informs her before turning around to face the stove. 

She doesn’t mean to, but her eyes fall south and land on the way his trousers fit just so snug against his arse. Immediately embarrassed that she’s even allowed herself to peek at such a thing, on such a person, Hermione forces her gaze up and to the spot in the middle of his back where the black shirt clings to the muscles there. Cor, she’s a right mess if she’s thinking about the various ways in which Malfoy is attractive. Never should happen. She shouldn’t ever consider it. 

Hermione swallows and steps up next to him. She moistens her lips and then chances a look up at his face. Sharp jaw, light stubble that needs a trim, and lively gray eyes staring back her. She flushes. Thankfully, if he notices the way she’s examining him, he says nothing about it. 

“It’s a little bit of transfiguration, a little charm work, and a whole lot of skill.” Draco prods his wand toward the stove and it comes to life with flame. “I’m guessing you’ve watched Weasley cook on one of these?” 

Hermione shakes her head. “We had a muggle stove and when we were at his mum’s, she did all the cooking.” 

His face turns and his chin dips. Malfoy is staring into her eyes and her mouth goes dry. He seems to be trying to read her face for something and she’s not sure what, so Hermione just keeps eye contact and refuses to stop. After a few moments, he turns back to the stove and prods the fire again. The flame turns blue and is much smaller now. 

“The trick is to make sure that you’re cooking low and slow. Magical fire is tetchy, like a dragon, so it’s important not to allow it to overcook the food. It happens quickly if you’re not paying attention.” 

He reaches to the side without looking at her and he pulls her wand hand forward. 

“I know you’re a competent witch, Granger, so I’m assuming you’re non-verbal?”

So many things are wrong with that question, she clams up. She hasn’t been non-verbal for years, completely out of practice. A competent witch? Perhaps when she isn’t burning down houses with her shoddy spell work. Hermione bites down on her lip and shakes her head, unable to admit it out loud to Malfoy of all people. 

“Alright.” Somehow his hold on her arm is lighter, like he knows that she’s vulnerable and he doesn’t want to upset her. “No matter, I just thought, well, you’re incredibly gifted for… you.”

For… a muggle born? A mudblood? She raises an eyebrow at him but he’s refusing to look at her. 

“Bollocks.” It’s meant to be to himself, but she catches it anyway and she snorts a laugh. He finally looks at her and it’s like he’s surprised to find her standing there. “What I meant to say is that it’s fine if you’re not non-verbal. It’s not necessary. It’s probably easier to teach you if you’re not. A lot of the skill lies in the way you enunciate the spells.” 

“That’s probably why they don’t teach non-verbal spells right out the gate at Hogwarts.” She encourages him with a smile and he grants her a rare, thankful nod.

“Right. It’s a little bit of a prod and you’ve got to remember to swish at the end.” He shows her the movement with his wand and she studies it carefully. “Incendio to light the fire and it’s either ‘frigus’ to lower or ‘caliditus’ to raise.” 

She nods and she doesn’t even realize she’s chewing her lip until it hurts and she laughs because it’s exactly how she studied in Hogwarts. “Does any other spell work? If I wanted to remove the fire completely?” 

“Finite works,” Draco nods, “It’s really not that difficult.” 

“I don’t understand how you’re cooking on nothing. There’s no pan there. Where are you going to put the food?” 

“I forgot how incessant you are about learning. Okay.” He turns to her and she expects to see a horrible look on his face and instead he’s teasing and playful. “The pans are here – Accio saucepan – and the wooden spoons are – Accio wooden spoon – there.” 

Her face burns a deep red. “So… you cook on pans?”

“Merlin’s beard, Granger. We’re wizards, not cavemen. Of course we cook on pans, you silly witch.” Draco is shaking his head and chuckling. “A magical stove just requires a little spell work to get it going, that’s all.”

“You couldn’t have just said that to begin with?” Hermione sighs and shifts her weight from foot to foot. She feels like a complete knobhead. 

“And miss that blush on your face?” He smirks and, if possible, she is redder than before. “Not on your life, Granger.” 

Is it possible that he’s flirting with her? Of course not, she chides herself. What would he possibly stand to gain from her? She’s the nanny of his child, so he’s obviously just trying to foster a good relationship between them. Nothing more. Part of her deflates, because she’s stupid enough to entertain for a moment that someone would even think to want anything more than child rearing from her. Ron really fucked her up, that much she understands. 

“So that’s it? Start a fire, set the correct heat, and you’re done?” Hermione changes the subject abruptly to keep herself out of the downward spiraling thoughts. 

“Obviously you need to know how to actually cook.” He peers at her from the side and lifts a pale eyebrow. “You do know how to –“

“Yes, I know how to make food.” She scowls and steps away from him because she’s done being picked on now. “Just when I think we’re turning over a new leaf and becoming friends, you go and do something like this.” 

“Mockery? That’s my love language, Granger. Might as well get used to it.” Draco shrugs his perfectly postured shoulders and then flips various ingredients into the pan he summoned. “Come here, let me show you my grandmother’s recipe for tomato sauce.” 

They spend near an hour in the kitchen together and she’s surprised how well they work together. He asks her to find different ingredients, he says that summoning them won’t teach her what to ask for and that she should familiarize herself with how he stocks the kitchen. They dance around one another here and there, occasionally bumping hips or arms, and apologize under their breaths when it causes a mess or one of them to curse. 

In the end, she learns that the secret to his grandmother’s tomato sauce is a dash of sugar and more than a little bit of deep, red wine. She hasn’t the heart to tell him that it’s the secret in almost every tomato sauce, so she acts properly stunned that she’s never thought of it before. Draco looks proud of himself and not in that rich-boy-elite-pureblood way she’s used to from school, but in a way that says he’s taken the time to learn something for himself and he’s gotten it right and isn’t that great?

When the sauce is done and the noodles are perfectly prepared and he tosses the freshly made garlic bread into his magical oven, Draco and Hermione walk into the dining room to find Harry sat there with a smug look of satisfaction on his face. He watches them walk in and his eyes drift between them before he stands up. 

“I can’t believe that you two did all of that together without arguing once.” He smiles as he approaches. There’s something playful in his eyes that Hermione recognizes from the day that he kissed her. But that can’t be the same now, right? He won’t do that in front of Draco, surely. “So, what’s for dinner?”

“Carrots, strained peas, and too-dry chicken, I’m afraid,” Draco tells him with a deadpan expression on his face. “Granger mucked it up entirely and I’m probably going to need to purchase a whole new stove. Tink will be mad; she loved that stove.”

Hermione tries so hard not to laugh, but a snort makes its way from her nose anyway. She and Draco share a conspiratorial look just before devolving into laughter. Harry watches them, eyebrows high on his face and glasses falling down to the middle of his nose. 

“Hmm.” He places a hand to his fuzzy chin and frowns. “You know, I thought I’d like the three of us to be friends, but if this is what I have to look forward to…” 

Hermione reaches forward and playfully slaps him across the chest. “Oh, Harry. You just made it so easy. Honestly, Draco and I have worked this entire week together without throttling one another. A little bit of cooking wasn’t going to ruin it all.” 

She glances back to Draco, hand still on Harry’s chest, and she sees how dark his eyes have gotten. It makes her suck in a breath. Maybe she’s gotten it all wrong and he was pretty close to cursing her this week. Hermione tests a small grin as her eyes drop down to the front of Draco’s shirt. 

“Draco, that shirt.” Hermione turns from Harry, even though he grabs her hand as if to stop her. Draco’s eyes find hers and he’s got pink tinted cheekbones and then his gaze darts to Harry. His lips part and he’s about to say something, but Hermione places her hand on his chest. “That’s… it’s a Chudley Canons shirt, from the Winter League Classic last year. That’s –”

“Hermione,” Harry takes her by the shoulders and spins her around to face him. “Hermione, it’s not what you think. I can explain. Listen.”

“You can explain why Draco Malfoy is wearing your shirt?” Hermione lifts a winged brow at him, accusing him of much more than what she’s saying out loud. 

“How do you even know the Chudley Canons,” Draco asks, a petulant tone to his voice. “You don’t even like quidditch and –“

“I bought Harry that shirt,” she informs him tersely, barely affording him a glance over her shoulder. “Harry?”

His eyes are on her and then they look up and over her shoulder. Bright, green, and filled with the worry she recognizes from her own eyes when she told Ron that she filed for divorce, Harry brings his gaze back to her and frowns crookedly at her. 

“Potter, it might as well be now.” She hardly hears Draco’s voice, so enraptured with Harry at the moment. 

“Er…” His hand is back on his neck and is kneading into the skin there as if that’s going to help him think. He bites at his lip and then he finally grabs her hand and leads her to sit down. “Draco and I, we… I don’t really even know how to say this, we haven’t told anyone.” 

“Are you sleeping together?” Hermione asks as she takes a seat. 

She alternates looking at Harry next to her and Draco behind her. Neither of them speak for a very long time. Not until Draco finally stands behind Harry with a hand on his waist. Hermione’s eyes zero in on the intimate touch, watching the way that his long fingers curl against Harry’s white shirt, the way he seems to pull him just a touch backwards and closer to his body. She opens her mouth to speak, but closes it again. 

“We’re…” Harry struggles. 

Draco presses himself into Harry’s back. He’s only slightly taller than Harry, but he’s more intimidating nonetheless. Hermione swallows and dares to meet Draco’s eyes again. 

“I love him.” Draco’s confession is quiet, barely a whisper, but it could have been mistaken for the loudest crash on earth. 

The words hang in the air.

No one breathes. 

Hermione’s eyes flicker between them. Harry’s face is turning red, he’s shaky, looks like his legs are wobbly. Hermione stands abruptly and she thinks for a split second about saying something, anything, to help take the pressure out of the situation but she’s so absolutely gob smacked that she’s not sure what to say. 

Hermione reaches for Harry around the neck, not bothering to care where Draco finds himself when she yanks Harry forward and into a crushing hug. She’s on her tip toes and she can barely keep herself upright, but she’s holding him tight and she’s curling her fingers into whatever part of him they touch. 

After several moments, he pries himself away from her and he’s got a lopsided smile on his face when their eyes meet. 

“Harry, what…?” Hermione shakes her head. “I just… I guess it makes sense with everything I’ve noticed the past week, but… what? When? How?” 

Harry reaches back and grabs Draco’s hand. Their fingers are wound tight. She’s intensely aware that Draco isn’t uttering a single, solitary syllable. Barely a breath since he spoke the words. She decides to respect that; it can’t have been easy for him. 

“The night that I found out Ginny had an affair.” Harry places a finger on her lips. “If you’re going to ask me questions, love, you’ve got to let me answer them.” 

Hermione nods under his finger and sits down in the chair. She’s not sure that it was actually in the right spot and she thinks maybe she has Draco to thank for not falling on her arse, but she’s barely able to form words and she resolves to thank him later. 

Harry sits next to her and takes her hand between both of his, obviously having let go of Draco’s in the process. “Draco, can you please go put a silencing spell over the playroom and a ward on the dining room? I don’t want the boys to hear this.” 

Draco is gone from the room without a word and Harry is drawing circles on her palm with one of his fingers. She’s so confused, she has so many questions, but she’s promised to remain silent and so she will until Harry’s had his say. 

“About a year ago, Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy walk into a bar…” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Much love to all of you for the continued support and encouragement. I appreciate it so much. <3


	9. Harry Potter & Draco Malfoy Walk Into A Bar

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little surprise update for those of you who are supporting the Tumblr protest today <3

_ Approximately one year earlier…  _

It doesn’t matter if you’re The Boy Who Lived, the world is still shit. He’s fine with it, life is always throwing him the most ridiculous hurdles and he’s well equipped to Bombarda the fuck out of them. It’s what he does. Like any great British cliché, Harry Potter carries on. But tonight, when Ginny sits down with tears in her eyes and tells him that she’s slept with someone else, he’s just broken. He’s sad and he’s confused and his heart feels like lead in his chest.

Probably what bothers him most is that he’s not sure if he’s more upset that his marriage is over or that the last vestiges of his youth have been ripped to shreds. In any case, something inside of him snaps and the powerful glow of magic just sort of disappears. He feels empty, alone, and incomplete. 

Things haven’t been right for a very long time. Magic feels wrong, foreign. It’s the realization he’s lost the wonder of conjuring and charming that cracks through his tough shell and brings prickles of tears to his eyes. 

He can’t look at her and he tells her so. She understands, she cries, and she tells him there’s no mending what’s broken between them. It takes him ages to agree; he wants to fight for his marriage, for his heart, but in the end she’s right and he crumbles under the weight of it. After hours of silence Harry asks her to leave, to await his solicitor’s owl, to stay with her mum while she’s on holiday. The kids are there having a sleepover with their cousins, she can spend time with them and he can try to figure out where he goes from here. He’s had enough, she’s right, and he’s going to start taking care to remember the world he fought to save so many years ago. 

Unfortunately for Harry, remembering the world that he fought to save also includes remembering that it has pubs. Better than regular pubs, it has magical pubs. With highly effective tonics to cure all ailments. Or, at least the ailments that are forgettable after attaining an inadvisable blood-alcohol level. 

There’s a wonderful pub in Surrey, just outside of the muggle part of town, where on occasion, he journeys with co-workers for a night of well-mannered frivolity. That’s where he finds himself now. With less than well-mannered intentions. It’s strange to be back in Surrey after so many years not for his muggle relatives, but for its magical offerings. Granted, Petunia and Vernon haven’t lived in Surrey in quite some time, it’s still interesting to see his old haunt in the distance from the pub. He doesn’t smile, just wonders briefly if his life would be any different if he hadn’t grown up with the Dursleys. 

Undoubtedly, it would, but he can’t dwell on it. Ginny tells him all the time that the past can’t be changed and we need to move on in order to grow. How he’d go on without her wisdom, he can’t quite know yet, but he’s determined to try. 

He walks into the familiar pub and it’s quiet tonight. There are a handful of patrons dotted along the floor, some in booths, a couple at a table, a bloke at the bar. Harry removes his dark gray cloak and hangs it next to the door. He’s left in his DMLE polo and is happy to find that the temperature in the pub doesn’t reflect the chill outside. As he makes his way to the bar, a couple of the patrons tip their heads at him; regulars that he’s met before. He sits on a stool that’s probably too used to his particular shape and places several galleons down in front of him. 

“Harry,” the bartender greets him with a wide smile and sparkling blue eyes. “Fancy seeing you here without the rest of your troupe.”

Harry offers him a tight lipped smile. “Just the whisky tonight, Amadeus.” 

“Of course, sir.” There’s still a bright playfulness behind Amadeus’ eyes, and Harry’s happy that his mood doesn’t seem to affect the man’s demeanor. “One on the house and one on your tab?”

Grateful, Harry tosses a galleon behind the counter and into a pitcher that holds a mixture of various coins. “Thanks, mate. Keep them coming, yeah?” 

His tolerance is admittedly higher than he’d prefer. He’s not a drunk, but has sipped his fair share of neat whisky since becoming an auror. The bite of life, the gruesome details that other wizards don’t care to see, they leave an imprint and he’s spent a lot of time numbing himself to the difficulties of his job. Magic is beautiful, but it’s also cruel. Harry’s intimately aware with both sides. 

The chatter in the bar gets louder as wizards find their way to Amadeus’ place. Harry sits with his back to them all, nursing his beverages and considering all of the ways that his life changed tonight. His wife, his beautiful, feisty wife, tore him to shreds tonight. He’s not sure how to feel about it. How long can he mourn for his marriage? Does it count if he grieves while drunk? He’s going to find out. He doesn’t think he can face their bed while sober, anyway.

He feels a breeze of cold air on his neck before a figure sits next to him. He’s a smidge taller, especially since Harry is a little hunched over his drink. He’s staring at the amber liquid as if it’s going to magically erase everything in his head, but it doesn’t. Tempted to try one of the elixirs that Amadeus procures, Harry grabs a laminated bit of parchment and starts reading through the list of available tonics. 

“Detached Draught tastes like piss.” 

The voice next to him is one he knows well. A harsh, clipped tone that Harry has come to associate with all of his more dangerous missions. He lifts his head, stubble-covered chin aimed to the side over his shoulder as he considers the blonde wizard next to him. He settles on a light chuckle as he sets down the list of elixirs. 

“Draco.” Harry lifts his chin a little and flags down Amadeus. “He looks like shit. A whisky on me so that I can say I at least pretended to care tomorrow.” 

Draco barks a laugh and throws a few coins into the tip pitcher behind the bar. “Potter. Pleasant as always. Another rough case this evening? I figured you only had those when I’m consulting.” 

Harry downs two fingers of his own whisky and breathes sharply through his teeth before turning all the way to Draco. When their eyes meet, Harry sees his emotions reflecting out of the blonde’s eyes. Haunted, curious, lamenting. He leans in so that his shoulder is pressed against Draco’s and he whispers the words he hasn’t had the guts to say out loud yet. 

“My wife had an affair. I’m pretty sure my entire life is a wreck and everyone else has known it for ages except me.”

Draco doesn’t say much at all. His eyes follow Harry as he sits up straight again and he brings the small tumbler of alcohol to his red lips and sucks down the entire contents without so much as blinking. 

“You seem content to be a wreck.” Draco’s lips twitch. “I figured it was a Gryffindor trait, no?”

It’s Harry’s turn to laugh as he shakes his head. “Appreciate the validation, Malfoy. What’re you doing here on a work night, anyway? Shouldn’t you be off finding a new liaison for your case against Alecto Carrow?” 

Draco doesn’t waste time between drinks and sucks down another. He peers at Harry over the lip of his glass as if he’s considering to afford Harry with the same honesty in return. He sets down his empty glass and taps the table, requesting another. 

“Astoria is dying.” His lips barely move and the words escape him in a whisper. 

Harry immediately feels like a complete dickhead for even considering that his marriage falling apart could compare to what Draco is going through. His mouth falls open and he’s so sorry but he doesn’t want to utter those words because he knows they don’t help. So, he stares at Draco and watches as his face changes from tightly concealed secrets to a moment of open honesty and back again. He knows that Draco and Astoria have a strained marriage, a separation from each other. Draco stays in Wiltshire only during the weekends and is in his flat in Surrey while working through the week. Still, Harry imagines that they’re amicable and that Draco still loves her somewhere deep down. 

“Malfoy, I’m –“

“If you say you’re bloody sorry, Potter, I’ll remove your kneecaps with that spell you nearly killed me with.” Draco sucks down a third drink, followed by a fourth. He sips the fifth gently in the moments of silence that follow. “She’s known about it since she was little, apparently. A malediction of the blood. Runs in her family.” 

“Does Scorpius –“ 

The tumbler slams onto the oak bar and sloshes a little amber liquid over the side. 

“Potter,” Draco says through gritted teeth, “I don’t really want to fucking talk about which blood diseases can pass down from the mother of my child to my son, alright.” 

Harry swallows around a dry patch in his throat. It’s thick, like tar, and he’s desperate to alleviate the uncomfortable feeling so he slams back another whisky and rather than breathe through the burn, he welcomes it. The pub is warmer than it was when he entered and his vision has this delightful fuzz around it. His head feels like and his body is loose and it’s exactly what he’d aimed for when he came here tonight. 

“For what it’s worth, Draco,” Harry says lightly, testing the waters of communication between them. When Draco doesn’t cut him off, he continues, “I’m sorry.” 

Draco nods, a small dip of his chin, and fingers the glass in front of him. Harry takes the time to really consider the wizard. His hair is normally done up, a purposeful sweep to it with magical product to keep it perfectly in place. Not tonight, though. It’s falling onto his forehead and just a small chunk falls over his brow and lays gently over his eye. His sharp jaw is shadowed with stubble and he’s wearing a black collar that hides the curve of his throat. He’s half put together and half disheveled and Harry doesn’t think he’s ever noticed the way that Draco’s eyes tend to mimic whichever color he’s wearing. Today, they’re dark and they slice through the silence as if to say ‘bugger off’ to anyone who approaches, but just yesterday when they’d worked through details of the Carrow Case, his eyes were light and flecked with darkness that welcomed Harry into his personal space without saying a word. 

It’s a few moments before Harry realizes that he’s been gazing into Draco Malfoy’s eyes. He pulls away from the flashing irises and trails down his thin nose to the half-lifted lips that are surprisingly fuller than what Harry expects. He licks his lips and drags his stare from the blonde’s face to the drink set down in front of him. 

“Find anything you like, Potter?” Harry can hear the smirk in his voice without even glancing to him. 

He shakes his head a little in response and gulps back the drink in front of him. He’s going to have the worst hangover tomorrow; he’ll have to remember Hermione’s cure-all. Merlin knows he’s not allowed to floo and ask her for it anymore. 

“You’re more put together than I’d expect you to be after finding out your wife had an affair.” Draco says it matter-of-factly, less cruelly than Harry would imagine it to be any other time. “Did you have a happy marriage?” 

Harry thinks about it. He loves Ginny, but perhaps not in the way that a husband should love his wife. He wasn’t very shocked about her affair, not really. She’s gone more than she’s home and most of their sex is uncomfortable and awkward. It’s not as passionate as Ron boasts about him and Hermione, and he’s looked at magazines – Ginny never seems that content after they sleep together. When he’d wondered earlier if he’d missed any signs, he should have considered that it’s never been phenomenal. Just comfortable, familiar, safe. 

“It was okay,” he settles on and knows it says more than those three words let on. Draco levels him with a look, like he also knows there’s more behind the words. It could be the alcohol or maybe it’s that he’s tired of dancing around his feelings about it, but Harry gives him a little bit more than what he’d meant to. “I guess I’m not shocked that it came down to this. It was always going to be her decision to end it.” 

“Coward?” Draco raises an eyebrow and sips from his glass again. He isn’t being malicious, Harry realizes, but asking for an honest assessment of himself. 

“Comfortable.” It’s nothing more or less, except perhaps he wouldn’t want to hurt Ginny after everything they’ve been through. 

The blonde nods and Harry lets a deep breath fall from his lips. It feels good to say it out loud, that perhaps his marriage isn’t everything he’d ever wanted, but it isn’t the worst thing he’s dealt with in his life, either. He’s never had a reason to leave and perhaps, until now, that’s enough. 

“Astoria and I were incompatible from the start, but I wanted to make my parents happy.” Draco points to an elixir on the menu – Honest Brew – and waits until it’s in front of him before continuing. Harry’s hanging on every word. “My father demanded that I marry a pureblood. That’s not really shocking, I know. But he thought the Greengrasses would be a logical, strategic choice. They were innocent enough in the war to help bring a bit of grace back to the Malfoy name, but still an old family with deep pockets.” 

Harry doesn’t understand, not really. Arranged marriages fall outside his knowledge base. Sure, he’s heard stories from Andromeda about being blasted from the Black Family Tapestry and why – she’d married a muggle born despite her parents’ protests – but, he never really knew anyone with these stringent rules of marriage. Hell, he had all the freedom in the world to choose and still chose wrong, apparently. 

“We liked each other enough,” Draco continues and tosses back the Honest Brew. Harry orders another drink, not brave enough for the elixirs. “The sex was –”

Harry flushes. He wants to tell Draco that it’s not necessary to detail his sex life, that it’s of no interest to him, but something stops him. Without meaning to, he leans in and their shoulders are barely touching. 

“– Adequate. She’s the type that likes to please. My tastes lie…” Draco meets Harry’s eyes over the curve of the glass he’s drinking from. Harry sucks in a breath and holds it, hanging on every beat between Draco’s words. “Elsewhere and everywhere.” 

Suddenly, Harry feels transparent. His cheeks are tinged pink and his breath leaves him sharply through his nose. The noise in the pub is muffled and there’s a vibrating feeling in his chest that leaves him warm and on edge and he sort of likes it, but it’s foreign, too. He’s never really had feelings for men, though he’s found them attractive in a broad sense of the term. Draco Malfoy is handsome, sharp and edgy in a way that Harry thinks he likes. But girls, they’re soft and curvy and sexy in a way he’s sure he prefers. Maybe. He’s mildly confused and Draco’s intense stare is not helping at all. 

“We’re ill matched,” Draco says finally. He pinches his lips, just a little pout as he swallows more liquid. “She’s certainly had her dalliances outside of the marriage. I believe she’s in love with Marcus Flint, of all people.” 

Harry likes the sound of Draco’s rough chuckle, the way the sound is so natural to the blonde. He can’t help but smile at the sound, and then they’re sharing a smile and Harry realizes that he’s probably in a very precarious situation now with Draco’s honesty and his growing understanding of his own potential sexuality. He shouldn’t be feeling this way, not with his impending divorce so fresh, but then Ginny hadn’t even waited for it to end before she’d gone off and ruined everything. And he’s been so empty, so tapped out for so long. This is the first time he’s felt excitement outside of work in years and he’s curious. 

“Potter.” 

Harry’s eyes are all over the man in front of him. He’s trying to take in everything, to determine if this is the thing that’s been missing, and he’s not sure, but just considering it makes him feel something… a spark. 

“You don’t want to return to your marriage bed tonight, do you?” Draco’s eyes are darker still and Harry wets his lips when he shakes his head in response. “Come have a nightcap with me. Neither of us need to be alone tonight and if you keep staring at me like that in this pub, people are going to make certain assumptions.” 

Harry realizes he’s gotten so incredibly close to Draco that he must appear to be sharing a secret or something much more intimate. He immediately backs away. 

“I don’t…” He takes a steadying breath and glances around the pub. It’s packed now, people dotted everywhere in clusters. No one is really paying them much attention, save for Amadeus who is keeping them well plied with drinks. “I’m not sure –”

“I’m only asking you to join me for drinks in a private setting,” Draco reminds him gently. He stands from his chair and summons his cloak. “I understand if it’s not something you want to get into, but I think you’ll be surprised how well I can mix a drink.” 

Harry’s certain that his stomach is filled with butterflies. Whether Draco meant the words as innuendo or not, Harry chooses to believe he did. If he does this, if he leaves with Draco, he can’t ever take it back. He can’t pretend it doesn’t happen. It changes everything he’s ever known and it forces him to face every failure of his marriage. But that spark he feels under Draco’s presence, he doesn’t want to ignore it. It’s been so long since he’s felt it, since after the war. He wants that sensation to stay. It’s like his magic is happy, like it feels purpose. 

He non-verbally summons his cloak and follows Draco out of the pub. They don’t even make it around the corner to the closest apparation point before Draco has him pressed up against the brick wall with his hands thrust into Harry’s unkempt, raven hair. There’s a moment, a solitary beat of time, where Draco allows him to say no, to move away, to push off the wall and walk away. His eyes dance between Draco’s, he swallows, his throat bobs, and his gaze darts to Draco’s lips. Wet still with drink, parted under a shallow breath, they get closer by only the barest of movement. The spark inside his chest is roaring like a fire now and it gives him all of the bravery he needs to close the gap between them. 

When their lips meet, it’s like a symphonic crescendo in his ears. His heart is beating erratically and every thrum of his nerves is pulsing with magic he hasn’t felt since he’d held all three Deathly Hallows and stood triumphant against evil. Draco tugs his head back and slants his lips over Harry’s, and wastes no time delving his warm tongue into his mouth without any care in the world about what it means or what it changes. Harry can’t even dwell on it longer than the scantest bit of a moment as he moans around the feel of Draco’s mouth on his. 

Harry puts his hand on Draco’s waist, surprised to find that his body is harder than Harry would have guessed it to be. He’s all angles and edges and they press against Harry’s body in a delicious way that makes Harry gasp into their kiss. Draco dominates the kiss first, but Harry doesn’t let him control it for long. He spins them around and puts his knee between Draco’s and pushes him hard against the brick before their lips are attached again. 

There’s a pull behind his navel and they’re spinning around in the darkness. When they land in Draco’s house, his cloak is removed, his jumper is next, and then his shoes. He’s standing half-bare in Draco’s living room and he only has a second to consider what it means before Draco’s naked chest is pressing against his. He’s surprised at their size difference, Draco more lithe and thin against Harry’s muscular frame. His hands are everywhere all at once as Draco’s lips find the fleshy part of his neck just below his earlobe. He bucks under the thrill of it and then he’s on the floor and Draco is breathing heavily on top of him. 

“Draco, I don’t –“ Harry breathes into the blonde’s ear as he thrusts against him and earns a growl in return. “God, Draco, I’m not –”

Draco moves his hips, just a light movement but with enough friction to get Harry hard immediately. “If you need to stop, tell me now, Potter.” 

His head is fuzzy and he knows that this decision can’t be made lightly. But, he’s so caught up in the heat of the moment, the way his body reacts to Malfoy, the way his magic responds to him without even having a wand in his hand, like it’s pleased. It creates the most marvelous sensation, like fizzy beverages tingling up his spine or the zing of lemon lighting up his soul. He doesn’t want to say no, and so he doesn’t. 

Harry grabs the back of Draco’s head and pulls him in for another kiss, but this time he takes control entirely and nips at his lip. He can do this, he can spend a night with Draco Malfoy and still look at himself in the mirror tomorrow. 

Or, if not, he’ll destroy all his mirrors in the morning. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’ve sneakily added the Drarry tag! When this chapter was written I bounced with uncontrollable glee - I hope you feel the same! :D Your comments and thoughts and theories of things to come have been so wonderful to read - thank you!! <3


	10. The Lengths You’ll Go

She’s reeling. Who can blame her, really? Harry’s hanging his head in front of her and Draco’s so quiet that she wonders if he’s struck dumb. She stands from the table, drops Harry’s hand in the process, and paces. Her fingers dig into her forehead as the heels of her palms press into her eyes. She bumps into a chair here and there, but she doesn’t make a noise as she adjusts her course and keeps pacing. 

“I –”

Hermione snaps her mouth shut and flings her hands down to her sides. If her nails were long, they’d leave indents in her skin with the sheer force of pressing the tips of her fingers into her palms. How did she miss this? Why is it such a common theme to have no bloody idea what’s going on in Harry’s life? Why does he hide so many important things from her? She’s the very worst sort of friend, apparently. The worst friend, the worst wife; Merlin knows what she actually has to offer anyone anymore. 

She’s not selfish, not normally. But she’s hurt and everything around her seems to be falling apart. Crashing and breaking and nothing is what it’s always been. She shakes the thoughts from her head as best as she can, but still the sadness remains. 

  
“Have I been a horrible friend to you, Harry?” Is what comes out of her mouth instead of anything else she could possibly say after he’s bared his soul to her. 

“What?” Harry jumps up from the table. “No, of course not!” 

Hermione’s gaze finds Draco, who is watching her with tense eyes and rigid posture. His face gives nothing away of his thoughts and she doesn’t know why she expects any different. 

“Do I still have a job, Draco?” Because it’s uncomfortable and she’s not sure that he can continue to employ her under this sort of strain. Purebloods avoid all this unpleasant business, don’t they? 

He ducks his chin. His words are short, concise, no fluff. “Of course.”  

“Then I’ll see you on Monday.” Hermione starts to leave the room, but Harry grabs her by the elbow and forces her to face him. “Harry, I –”

“Do you hate me?” His face plainly displays his agony – the way it’s pinched and pale – and she’s so sorry that he feels it that she cups his unshaven cheek gently in her hand and shakes her head. 

“No,” she whispers softly. “I need time to think, Harry. A lot has happened and I can’t… I don’t know what I’m thinking, okay? You…” 

Her eyes rest on Draco again. God, Harry kissed her a week ago, but he’s clearly been with Draco. Does Draco know? When he finds out, will he fire her and ruin everything? Tears start welling up in her eyes and she brings her wide, brown gaze back to Harry. 

“When you two finish dinner, come over and we’ll talk.” He nods, swallows, and lets go of her elbow. She breathes deep and turns from Harry. “Goodnight, Draco.” 

She hears him murmur goodnight as she rounds the corner to find the floo. 

Before she realizes it, Hermione is on her sofa in the same spot Harry found her only hours before. She’s staring at the same spot on the wall where the paint is peeling away. Her mind is in such a state that she can hardly focus on one thing at a time. Harry – he’s not who she thought and it’s not that she really cares whose bed he falls into, but is he leading her on? He kissed her and he ran away and he’s always, always  _ there _ but he’s in love with Draco. And Draco is in love with him, isn’t he? The way he holds Harry and touches him; it’s possessive and protective and nothing like she’d seen in the papers between Draco and Astoria. Gosh, Astoria; she was still alive when all of this happened, recently diagnosed with her illness and  _ dying _ when they… 

Her heart hurts. It contracts painfully as her stomach roils. 

Does Draco know about the kiss? Why is he being so nice to her when all he’s ever been is cruel? Was it Harry’s doing? She worries about her job and wonders if she should quit and pay the solicitor another way – perhaps a job at Flourish and Blott’s would pay her enough to meet the minimum monthly payment. Beg for her job back at the Ministry. Run away somewhere far, far away and never, ever come back. 

Tears are gliding down her cheeks and dripping from her chin onto her wound hands. She sniffs, but she doesn’t take her eyes off the wall. Everything is falling apart and for the briefest of moments, Hermione wonders if she made the wrong decision to leave Ron after all. 

“Hermione.” 

How long has she been sitting here stewing in her thoughts? It seems like minutes, but there’s no sunlight left in her flat. It’s drenched in darkness. An hour, maybe? She bites her lip and says nothing. When he sits next to her, the sofa dips under his weight and she curls in on herself a little bit more. 

“I’m so sorry.” He scoots closer and her eyes try to find his in the darkness. The lights in her flat flicker on and she’s sure he performed non-verbal magic. “I didn’t mean for it to come out this way. We didn’t want you to find out like this.” 

“We?” She snorts humorlessly. “You both planned on telling me together? Why?”

“Draco thought, with him as your employer, it would be best to tell you together.” Harry is sitting so close to her now that they’re touching. She doesn’t have the strength to move away and Hermione’s not sure if she wants to. “I agreed with him because I didn’t know how to tell you on my own.”

“You kissed me.” She states it plainly, trying like hell to keep the ache in her heart out of her voice. “And then you ran away. Back to Draco?” 

She watches his throat move and the way his hands slide against his trousers. He’s nervous and her instinct is to soften, to tell him it’s okay, but she doesn’t. She shoves down her nurturing reflex. Hermione continues to stare at him, wanting an explanation for everything that’s happened recently because no matter which way she tries to explain it, nothing fits. 

“I had to tell him,” Harry says earnestly. “I didn’t mean to kiss you, but I couldn’t stop myself that night, Hermione. I love –”

“Don’t you fucking dare, Harry Potter.” She’s livid, eyes flashing at him as the pain of what he’s about to say sweeps through her nerves. “You can’t just burst in here and tell me that you love me after you tell me how you and Draco started sleeping together a year ago!” 

“I didn’t mean to, it just –” He hangs his head for a moment and then when he’s looking at her again, his eyes soften, pleading with her to understand. She’s truly trying. “He helps. That night, I felt something so powerful that I couldn’t say no. Like when I kissed you a few nights ago.”

Hermione’s mouth opens. She thinks she’s going to tell him to bugger off with it, but she stops herself. She felt it too, that night. The way her heart seemed to glow under his touch. That she felt a light flicker inside of her that’d been extinguished for such a long time. 

“You felt it, too?” she asks instead of the other hundreds of thoughts that swirl through her mind. 

Her hand is in his. He’s holding tight and she tries to pull it away once but he won’t let her. She feels it even now with only a simple touch. All of the darkness, the empty feeling that tries to swallow her, it’s less suffocating when he’s touching her. She sniffs back tears and allows him to hold her hand, if nothing than for comfort. 

“Hermione, I think I’ve always felt it with you,” he admits softly. “Draco and I have been doing a lot of research on it, the presence of magic and how it affects witches and wizards, and I realized that I never lost that feeling until you weren’t around all the time.” 

She thinks back. Immediately after the war, she married Ron. There was hardly a courting period at all; she was so sure of her feelings, of Ron. It didn’t take her long to fall into the habit with him – work, home, no social life. And then Rose was conceived and it just kept her at home more. She wasn’t around her friends much, she was being a mum, a wife, an employee. Ron argued with her all the time about how she spent her free time, and she didn’t see Harry and Ginny or any of her friends very often at all. 

This is the friend she’s been. Absent. Selfish. Moments ago, she was mad at Harry for everything he’d put her through for days. Merlin, she hasn’t considered what she’s put him through for years. Suddenly, she’s hit with sadness for an entirely different reason. 

“Harry, I’m sor –”

“No.” He grips her hand tighter and pulls her into his body so that she’s crushed against him. “You don’t have to apologize. I had so much going on, Hermione. It happens. I let so many bad things happen to you and I’ll never forgive myself for not being here.” 

“That wasn’t for you to save me from, Harry,” she assures him even though he’s shaking his head in disagreement. “I’m so sorry that I wasn’t strong enough for you.” 

His arms are around her and her hands are clutched against his hard torso. They stay like this for several minutes as he soothes her hair and kisses the side of her head and holds her until they both have a calmness around them. She feels safe here, despite everything, and she’s grateful that whatever has come between them in the past, they have each other now. 

As peace settles around them, Hermione pulls away slightly from Harry. She likes how affectionate he is now, remembering a different, standoffish Harry from their youth. A small smile paints her face when he looks at her and he’s smiling, too. She watches his eyes dip to her lips and she sucks in a breath. Her hand is on his chest and she tries to get a little bit more space between them, because she knows the secret now and she’ll never participate in something like an affair; it’s not who she is. 

“Draco and I, we have an open sort of relationship,” he admits to her so quietly that she’s straining to hear him. “Not open to just anyone, but… he knows that we’ve kissed, and I left that night so that I could be honest with him.” 

It hits her hard and fast and her thoughts swirl like they’re on a rogue ferris wheel. “Draco knows? And he’s okay with it? And you’re  _ allowed _ ?” 

A nervous laugh escapes him and his warm breath fans against her cheek. She’s not sure she likes where this is going, the assumption that she’d be okay being party to an open relationship. It’s nothing she’d ever had to consider before and she’s trying to understand what it means as her eyebrows form a notch. 

“Yes.” It’s a simple answer as he watches her closely. “When we started researching the different types of magical power, the influencers of it, I admitted to him how I felt before and after you were a constant in my life. He understands and he’s accepting.” 

“And he… what, will allow you to kiss me whenever you want?” Hermione’s eyes drop for only a moment to his lips as she considers what she’s said, what Harry is telling her. When her eyes meet his, they are the darkest green she’s ever seen. 

“Among other things.” The words hang there between them and she’s not sure how she feels; warm under a sudden blush and annoyed that they’ve talked about her in such a way, that either of them thinks a quick snog here and there would be enough for her. “Listen, Hermione, it’s all a lot more complicated than me stealing a kiss here and there. I love you. You know that, right?”

“I love you, too, Harry, of course I do, but…” somehow, they’re closer and she’s both afraid that he’s going to kiss her again and terrified that he won’t. Her feelings are everywhere all at once and with everything that’s happened, she’s not sure where they’ll land. “I just… it’s too much, too fast, okay?”

He’s suddenly out of her immediate space, allowing her a chance to breathe. “This is enough, Hermione. This, right here, is enough.” 

“But you want more from me?” He plays with her fingers as she stares down at their hands. “You want both me and Draco?” 

“Among other things.” His lips lift and he’s so blatantly happy. She doesn’t remember the last time she truly saw him smile like this. Hogwarts, probably. “Don’t you feel it? Like a light inside that flickers when we touch?”

“Yes,” she breathes slowly. Of course she feels it. It’s the only thing keeping her going right now. It’s the thing that pulled her out of her own mind after Ron picked up the kids. This feeling is everything she needs to keep going, to keep pushing. “And Draco knows…?”

He nods. “He does. His consulting group is actually working on a case right now with the Unspeakables – obviously I can’t say too much about it. But, we’re learning more and more as we gather information.” 

“So this is a big thing?” She points to her chest where she feels something inside of her thrum happily under Harry’s touch. 

“Huge thing,” he tells her dramatically. “Could change the way we look at magic entirely.” 

“All because you and Draco shagged a year ago,” she teases him and he perks up so much that Hermione thinks they might yet get past her being the worst friend ever. “So, certain magics have a propensity to be powerful under the influence of someone else’s magical signature?” 

“Merlin, Hermione. What did it take you, three minutes to come to the same conclusion that it took us nearly half a year to figure out?” He laughs, full and throaty. 

She beams under the praise; it’s not something she’s used to and the little light inside her glows so bright she can feel like travel the length of her from toes to lips. Harry seems to notice, because he’s grinning by her side and his hands are kneading the muscle of her hands. She finds herself leaning closer to him without even thinking about it and she wonders if she’s always been this drawn to him, if their meeting was really more about their magics behaving like magnets rather than a troll in a dungeon. 

“So, what now?” She asks, because she’s afraid to let the silence sit for too long. “If we… have a relationship and you and Draco have a relationship, what does that mean for us?” 

“Whatever we want it to mean, Hermione.” Harry’s thumb moves from her palm to her wrist and he keeps rubbing circles against her skin. “If it feels right, then what does it matter?”

Her eyes are wide; does he not understand who she is and how she is? “It matters, Harry! We have children to consider, we have an entire wizarding world who watches our every damn move, and Ron and Ginny and the Malfoys! Harry, it matters. I know you’re an idealist, but –”

“Okay, okay.” His fingers are all the way to her elbow now and he’s not looking at her eyes, but concentrating on the creamy, smooth skin of her arm. “I know, you’re right. But, if we just keep it under wraps until we understand what it is and how it works, then we’ll be more confident about it when we’re ready to open up about it.” 

“Polyamory is sort of a taboo, Harry, especially in the muggle world.” Despite her concerns, her entire being is ardently enjoying what his fingers are doing to her skin. “If we keep this a secret and someone finds out that you’re with both Draco  _ and  _ me…?”

What she really wants to say is, ‘if Ron finds out’, because he’ll go mad with it. So much could be at stake if she agrees to it. She needs time, she needs to think, and she needs to really understand more about this magical influence. 

“Draco and I have kept our relationship a secret for nearly a year.” He smiles sheepishly at her and stands up, pulling her with him. “If you want something bad enough, it’s amazing the lengths you’ll go to in order to make it work.” 

He is so much taller than she is and he’s standing so close that she has to tilt her head back to look into his eyes. Harry’s moved his hand from her elbow to her waist and he’s got his fingers curled into the fabric there. She feels safe here, despite everything. His glasses are so clear that she can almost count the light flecks of bright green against the dark green in his eyes. She rests her hands on his chest and drops her gaze to her fingertips. 

His hand finds its way to her jaw and lifts her chin. She looks up through her long, brown lashes and breathes as if it’s the last time she’ll be able. Even before their lips touch, she knows it’s coming and she has every opportunity to stop it. He gives her a chance, a moment to stop, but she can’t. She wants it, despite everything, she doesn’t want to say no. 

When his lips touch hers, she sighs into the kiss. His hand is off her jaw and wrapped around the back of her head to pull her closer. She’s worried about her chapped lips and the salty taste on her tongue from all the tears she’s spilt today. Harry doesn’t seem bothered by any of it, because he’s pressing more forcefully against her mouth and his tongue swipes hers. Something inside of her erupts like a dormant volcano and it’s as glorious as it is passionate. Her fingers grasp the fabric of his jumper and twist into it so that she can keep her balance. The little tug on her hair causes her to moan against him and she can feel the way he’s smiling into the kiss and it spurs her on to kiss him harder. 

There are so many new feelings inside of her, some she felt the last time they kissed, but other things, too. The spark of her magic, once so dull, is flickering. She can feel it in her fingers and in her heart and along every nerve of her body. It’s like an old friend coming to say hello and as she allows herself to bask in the feeling she’s missed so much, Harry pulls away. 

  
They’re breathing hard and she can’t bring herself to open her eyes yet. He’s unwrapping his fingers from her hair and trailing a single digit over the skin on her neck. His forehead presses against hers and he places a chaste kiss against her mouth. 

“I won’t push you,” he promises her quietly as he backs away. Her hands fall to her sides and she finally opens her eyes. “But I think that you’ll wonder what it could feel like and this is the only way to truly show you just a piece of what it can be.” 

“It’s so right,” she whispers and fidgets with her hands between their bodies. “I just don’t know if I can be with you while you’re also with Draco. It’s…”

“Believe me, I understand.” He grabs her hands and stops them from twisting around one another. “Draco had the same concerns you do.” 

“Had?” She tilts her head. 

“He’s come around recently.” The smile on his face is cheeky, almost secretive, as if he’s sharing it with Draco who’s not even here. “Think about it, okay? I won’t push you for an answer. Just get in touch with me when you decide. I’ll stay away from Draco’s place while you’re there until you know.” 

“Harry?” Something occurred to her then and she couldn’t stop herself from asking. Harry’s putting distance between them and he’s making his way slowly, backward, to her floo. “The day that I started nannying for Draco, he seemed really distracted that morning?” 

Harry shrugs as he steps into the floo, his eyes are sparkling playfully through a wink. “He’s an easily distractible bloke.” 

When he disappears from her fireplace, she laughs and she puts a hand over her mouth. What has she gotten herself into? 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First thing you should know about me is that I’m actually the worst at math. XD Which means, when I counted the chapters until Christmas and then counted the weeks until... Tuesday... I realized that I have 4 chapters to post between now and then if I want Fourteen Thousand Galleons Christmas to be posted on Christmas. So. Fast updates between now and then. Hope you enjoy!! <3


	11. It Better Be Worth It

Draco’s had a rough weekend. He’s not particularly pleased with having his comfortable world flipped on its axis and turned upside down. In fact, if he could do it all over again, he’d have a time turner in his hand immediately. Unfortunately for Draco, Harry Potter tends to make gigantic, mental leaps of faith. Off cliffs. 

_ Let’s tell Hermione, _ he’d say in the most ridiculous, optimistically flouncy Harry Potter voice he can muster.  _ She’ll understand. She’s very understanding and clever and beautiful and wonderful and Gryffindor.  _

Urgh. Why he had to go and fall in love with Boy Wonder is well beyond his comprehension. And then, even worse, he feels it when he’s near  _ her _ , too. This thud, thud, thud in his chest that reminds him that he’s not quite as heartless as he’s always meant to be. With Harry, he’s alive but with Hermione, he feels. It’s the most annoying load of bullshit Draco’s ever known. 

But he doesn’t want to live without it. He’s well acquainted with knowing grandeur and riches; no man wants to give them up once they have a taste. The same can be said for Harry Potter and Hermione Granger. 

Of course, all of this came out of nowhere. All he’d done to earn these two in his life was quite literally walk into a bar intent on drinking himself into the most deplorable stupor imaginable. And a year later, he’s rewarded with a gorgeous auror for a boyfriend and a pending, soon-to-be relationship with Goodie Two Shoes Granger. His luck is amazing. 

“Draco?” Harry glances into the room. “Figured I’d find you here.”

Draco’s sitting by the fireplace in the den, a glass of whisky in one hand and a book in the other. He doesn’t even look up as Potter enters the room with one of his big smiles and his knowing, sparkling eyes. Draco raises an eyebrow as he watches him cross the room and sit in the seat across from him. Neither of them break the silence and so Draco pretends to read his book. 

No need to let Harry know just how much of Draco’s attention he actually has at any given moment. 

Without even lifting his gaze, Draco can feel Harry’s antsy energy. He can hear the way his hands drag across his trousers and the soft squeak of his boot on the ground as his leg bounces. It’s almost cruel that he allows Harry to sweat it out, but Draco is nothing if not patient. He’ll wait a century before he gives Harry an easy-in to the conversation he knows is coming. 

Finally, Harry breathes loudly and it’s the most adorably annoyed sound Draco’s ever heard. So impatient and such a Gryffindor move that Draco almost rolls his eyes. 

“I wasn’t the one walking around the house in a shirt that doesn’t belong to him.” 

It’s not exactly what Draco’s expecting. The words immediately pull Draco’s eyes from the book and they pin Harry to the spot. He’s waiting for more. 

Harry pushes his hair off his forehead and then shakes his head. His lips aren’t turned down anymore and instead carry a smirk that seems to hold a private joke. Draco lifts a brow. 

“She’s… mostly on board,” he says finally, losing most of his confidence the more he speaks. “She thinks I’m cheating on you with her and I couldn’t… I’m not, am I?”

Draco sets his book down gently on the table beside him, careful not to let the page he’d been reading get lost. He sips from his tumbler and sets the glass down next to the book, and then he leans forward with his elbows on his knees. He considers the man in front of him, the way he genuinely worries about his feelings and actually cares if they survive what they’re planning. Draco can’t imagine losing Harry, not after everything and not when his magic feels so powerful inside him whenever they’re close. 

But Granger presents an unknown variable. He doesn’t like not knowing almost as much as he hates swallowing all of his former beliefs and seeing a constant reminder of them in his bed every single day. 

He steeples his fingers and rests his chin on top. Harry’s still fidgety and Draco lets him stew for another moment. 

“The point of polyamory is precisely so that you’re not cheating on me with Granger.” He watches Harry’s neck constrict around a swallow and then quirks his lips. “Do you feel guilty, Potter?”

“After everything?” Harry shakes his head. “No. I know what we are to each other. And I know that I’ll have to face the same when…”

Harry trails off and Draco follows his eyes as they roam the room. It’s something he notices Potter does when he’s searching for words, almost as if his surroundings can provide him the correct things to say. So different from Draco’s direct approach, and he finds it fascinating. To have moments where you’re not ready with a response, to be so ill prepared for any eventuality, it’s not a luxury Draco has ever been afforded. 

“You don’t say much about her,” Harry finally decides on and Draco can tell he’s trying to be delicate. 

“Does it matter what I have to say about her?” He’s edging closer to Harry and is perched precariously on the chair. “You’ve loved her for ages, haven’t you?”

The blush that spreads across Harry’s cheeks warms even Draco’s heart. Harry nods one short, single jut of his chin. 

“In one way or another, since first year.” Harry stands, like it’s a matter of highest urgency, and he approaches Draco with the softest of expressions. “But that doesn’t mean that we have to, I mean, she’ll always be my best friend regardless.”

“It would always be less than.” Draco stares up at Harry. He can see the war behind his wizard’s eyes and he wants to stop it, but he knows that the only person who can do that is… her. “You need her. Without her, you’re missing an essential part of your magic.”

“But you-”

Draco stands and he takes Harry’s hand in his. Their fingers twine together. “I… am working on it. I put out the advert, didn’t I?”

“A ten thousand galleon signing bonus?” Harry’s eyebrows are high on his head. “We said two thousand.”

“She wasn’t going to work for me, of all people, for two thousand galleons. That’s ridiculous. I wouldn’t have even thought she’d go for ten, but it would have looked suspicious if I would have offered fourteen thousand.”

Harry’s thumb is caressing the back of his hand and every nerve in his body is alive. Merlin, if he’d known about magical influence years ago, maybe his life would have turned out so differently. Or, not, because there was still a murderous sociopath trying to take over Britain  _ and _ his father’s stringent requirements for the Malfoy family. He never stood a chance. But, at least he would have had something to look forward to. 

Harry opens his mouth to argue, but Draco cuts him off.

“It worked. She’s out of the Ministry, away from Weasley, she’s independent, she’s happy here. That’s what you wanted, right?” 

“Yeah.” Harry bites his lip and glances down at their hands. “She’s going to be furious when she finds out what we’ve done.”

“Undoubtedly,” Draco agrees and then tips Harry’s chin up so that their eyes meet. “So you better make it worth it to her, Potter. If we’ve gone through all of this, it better be fucking worth it.”  
  


Harry didn’t stay over as he’s wont to do these days. The kids have been asking questions and they’re not ready to hear the truth yet, not until everything is cemented with Granger. Draco runs a hand through his hair, trying to tidy it into a professional style, as he stares himself down in the mirror. Granger. No fucking way is she going to fall in love with him quickly. Potter’s too much of an idealist. Quite honestly he’s amazed they didn’t set fire to each other in the kitchen this weekend. 

When she arrives with her children, he says a quick goodbye and then he’s gone. He doesn’t want to stay and end up in a long conversation about his relationship with Harry and, Merlin forbid, if he’s mad about their kiss. She’s Granger, she’ll want to talk it to death. She’s already kept Harry for hours over the weekend to simply talk about it. It’s bad enough he’s had to go through the play-by-play with Harry, too. 

Dwelling on the titles and definitions isn’t going to do anything except frustrate them. And Granger’s one for policies and procedures; not a spontaneous bone in her body. It’s part of what took them so long to create the atmosphere for Harry to make his move. At least a month ahead of schedule because Potter, entirely the opposite of Granger, is  _ too _ spontaneous and doesn’t think anything through. 

“Morning, Mr. Malfoy!” A brunette with legs for days greets him with a large cup of tea and a smile. “Your father left a howler, your mother left an apology, and Harry Potter sent a request from the Auror’s office that’s marked urgent.”

“Just run into battle with the stunners and don’t think twice about who you hit?” Draco smirks around the lip of his cup and winks at his assistant. She follows him to his tidy corner office with the click of her heels. 

“Sorry, Draco,” she says as she pulls the curtains open and sheds light into the room. “Parvati is the gentle twin. I’ve been told I’m like a goblin-wrought hammer to the face.”

He laughs; this is why he likes Padma, despite what he’ll allow her to believe. She’s so honest that he thinks her incapable of lying by her very nature and that makes her the best asset he has at Malfoy Consulting.

“Has my father been in the office today?” He holds the howler between his thumb and forefinger and drops it carefully onto his desk. “What tradition of prejudice do you think I’ve managed to destroy this time?”

Padma shrugs. “We did seal the deal to stop that elf breeder last week. But I swear, our books are so clean, there’s no way he can find it.”

Draco considers the howler. He knows he can’t ignore it, can’t set it ablaze, can’t direct it to anyone else. There’s really only one way forward and so he motions for Padma to close his door. Of course she keeps herself inside the room. 

“ _ DRACO, YOU ARE EXPECTED FOR CHRISTMAS DINNER AT THE MANOR AT PRECISELY SIX O’CLOCK OR SALAZAR HELP ME I WILL REMOVE ALL FUNDING FROM YOUR DEPARTMENT _ .”

It burst into shreds of red paper. Draco stares at the space that the howler floated seconds before and tugs at his collar. 

“How many times did you decline?” Padma asks, hiding a laugh behind her hand. 

“Every Christmas since Astoria and I were married.” Draco brushes the torn paper into the bin at the side of his desk. Padma is staring at him like he’s mad. “It began innocent enough and then the howlers started. Now it’s tradition.”

“That’s terrible,” she’s still giggling, despite her tone. “Your poor mum.”

“Oh. Mother spends Christmas at my home with Scorpius and I.” Draco can’t help the little lift of his lips. “She also enjoys the tradition.”

“Speaking of, then,” Padma hands Draco the parchment from his mother with a small frown. “She sends her apologies that she won’t be able to make it to Christmas dinner this year, but that you still might enjoy declining your father’s invitation.”

“In that case…” Draco pulls out a fresh piece of parchment, dips his quill in the inkwell, and writes a response to his father with Padma standing over his shoulder. 

_ Dear Father,  _

_ I’m afraid I’m disinclined to accept your cordial invitation to the manor for Christmas dinner. Mother has provided her full support for Scorpius and I to enjoy our first year alone on Christmas. She advises you to speak with her should you have any questions regarding my departmental funding, as she is in control of the finances by terms of your probation. _

_ With kindest regards, _

_ D.M. _

“You’re wicked.” Padma slaps his on the shoulder and accepts the rolled parchment he hands her a moment later. “What should I tell Harry, then? Something equally witty?”

Draco smiles. “I’ll deal with Potter. You work on the Unspeakable budget for Magical Influence. It’s our new focus -  _ off books _ . Thanks, Patil.”

She walks out of his office with a precise swagger in her hips and Draco watches every step. Padma’s a smart girl, he decides, though far from his mind in the way she wants to be. Still, he’s been sans a woman for a very long time and can still enjoy the shapely curves hidden behind just about any fashion choice. 

When his door closes with Padma on the other side, Draco stands and turns to his personal floo grate and tosses a handful of soot to the floor. He calls to Harry’s home and smiles at the way he answers; disheveled hair, no shirt, barefoot. Undone, that’s how he likes Harry best. Harry smiles as Draco’s eyes rake over his body and Draco can’t help the immediate reaction that’s pulled from him. He wants nothing more than to step through the fireplace and really make Harry come undone under his touch. 

“Malfoy.” Harry juts his chin and crosses his arms over his chest. “What do you want now?”

Draco sighs. Sure, they hadn’t left each other on the best note. Harry’s still upset at the direct way Draco wants to approach the Granger situation and Draco is annoyed by Harry’s idealistic expectations. A Slytherin and a Gryffindor can work – they’re proof of it – but, this particular Gryffindor Princess is not exactly an easy sell where unconventional lifestyles are concerned. Hell, it’d taken them ages to even get her to realize how terrible her marriage was. 

“Could you please just stop with the attitude, Potter?” Draco rolls his eyes. “Mother confirmed she’ll be at Andromeda’s for Christmas. Father’s furious. Dinner at mine on Christmas Day, uninterrupted and with the children?” 

Harry finally smiles, just a little thing that curls the corner of his lips. Draco likes this Harry, too. “Brilliant, yeah. Ginny has a match, so me and the boys will be there – a sleepover, perhaps?” 

“Done.” Draco nods. “Any idea what Granger is up to? Does she have Rose and Hugo or will they all travel to the Burrow as usual?” 

Harry shakes his head. “I’m not sure, actually. Ron’s been… worse than normal.” 

Draco knows. He remembers the dull brown of her eyes when she came over to cook dinner with him. The way that her voice struggled to find purchase at first. It warmed him to her, the way she seemed to perk up when he flirted with her, the way her eyes began to sparkle again. He likes that, too. It’s what makes him think this can work if they do it right. 

“Ever thought of just hexing the bastard, Harry?” Draco doesn’t like Weasley, never has. He’s suggested worse than hexing in the past. Harry, however, still holds firm that somewhere deep down, Ron is still a good friend, a best mate. Draco disagrees, has done since the beginning.

“Draco…” he sighs and runs a hand through his hair. If he’s trying to make it tidy, Draco thinks he’ll always fail. The ends still stick up all over the place. “It’s not my place. Hermione needs to stand up for herself. She’s not weak.” 

The way he says it, like a firm, final point. Draco wants to argue but the hardness in Harry’s eyes stops him. He doesn’t want to fight over it, not like they’ve done before. So, he ducks his chin, allows Harry to win this round, and changes the subject. 

“Right. Dinner tomorrow night, half six, don’t be late.” He considers Harry’s pale face in the fire. “Ask her to drinks on Christmas Eve. Take her to our pub.”

All he receives in return is Harry’s stupid, winning smile and then the floo is cut off. Draco sits back down in his chair and folds his hands together on top of his desk. He believes the entire situation is one that could have been avoided had they just been honest with Granger at the beginning. The web of lies is so thick now, Draco’s not even sure how Harry’s going to dig himself out of the hole once she realizes everything they’ve done. He’s mad sometimes, because he already has such a deficit in his relationship with Granger, and it’ll take far less for Harry to earn her forgiveness. 

The best he can do is keep building their friendship. It’s all he has while Harry warms her to the idea of the life they want to have together. 

“Patil,” Draco hits a buzzer on his office com. A little inspired piece of magic that Padma suggested. Genius. “When you go to the Ministry today, grab History of Magical Influence, will you?” 

His com buzzes as he reaches for a quill. “Is it necessary for the budget? Because I’m sort of in the middle of a crisis of maths, Mister Malfoy.” 

Draco chuckles at the com and can sort of hear his laughter outside of his office door. “A crisis of maths will never stand a chance against you, Padma. I need the book today.” 

“Aye, aye, boss,” she answers. 

When Draco tries to hit the com again to say thank you, he notices that there’s blue light from a spell hovering over the little button and full out laughs. Of course she’s also developed a way to keep him from bothering her when she’s involved in a project. Cheeky Ravenclaw witch. He hired her for a reason and sometimes it’s to his own detriment. Definitely the right choice.

Later that evening, with History of Magical Influence tucked under his arm, Draco is back at home and silently watching the way that Hermione spends time with the children. He likes to watch her softness with them, so opposite of his own mannerisms. He believes children need firm boundaries, but she seems to want the children to push past them. It’s fascinating how much their personalities go into their parenting styles. Even Harry is somewhere in between their two extremes, somehow managing to balance his two boys between respectable young gentleman and absolute heathens. 

He leans against the door frame with his ankles crossed, mesmerized. Scorpius is pushed right against her shoulder, Rose is across from her, and Hugo is next to Scorpius. They’re using color quills to create some type of drawing. He can’t really tell exactly what it is, but he’s sure he’s never seen anything like it before. He smiles as he clears his throat. 

“Sorry I’m late,” he announces to the room. Scorpius’ reaction is immediate and Draco’s heart swells as his little boy runs to him with open arms. Draco ruffles the platinum hair on top of his son’s head and smiles at Hermione, who turns her head to see him. 

She’s lying on the ground, pushed up on her elbows and her chin rests on her shoulder as she looks him over. He can tell she’s nervous, chewing on her lip and a delicate pink stain on the tip of her cheek bones.

“How was it today?” Draco leads Scorpius back to the others and sits on his settee. Granger pushes herself up from the floor and sits cross legged with her eyes on his. 

“We had fun,” she says after several quiet seconds. He really wants to know what’s going on inside of her head, but she’s so closed off. Timid, almost. “I bought some magical coloring quills from one of the mail-away shops in Kent. The children have been creating moving artwork most of the afternoon.” 

She holds up a picture with what appears to be a stick-figure dragon and ferocious fire billowing out of its snout. He’s never seen anything like it. He takes the paper from her and stares at its moving elements. A dragon trainer walks onto the paper and holds a sword out at the dragon. 

“What… is this?” He quirks an eyebrow, fascinated at the magic. “It’s like a photograph, but drawn by… Scorpius?”

“Oh yes,” she finally smiles and she gestures to the children. “They’ve been recreating some of my stories and drawing the most fantastic depictions. Aren’t they brilliant, Draco?”

The look on her face is like she wants him to understand something, something that seems to be going right over his head. His eyes are wide as he takes in this new, strange facet of magical photographs, and then finds her eyes again. He shakes his head, just a little bit, saying ‘I don’t know what you’re asking of me here’ without actually speaking. 

She speaks slowly, as if it’s obvious and he’s too thick to catch on. It takes all of his willpower not to say something extremely smarmy. 

“I said… isn’t the artwork that your son has worked on  _ all afternoon _ incredible?” Her eyebrows are so high and arched over her eyes and her head moves just a tiny bit forward as if that’s going to – 

Oh! It hits him, what she’s trying to say, and he turns to Scorpius with a still sort of confused, but wide smile on his face. He jumps up and looks to Scorpius. “Scorpius! It’s brilliant, mate. Excellent, yes. Miss Hermione is right, you’ve done a terrific job capturing the moment.” 

He can see Hermione’s smile out of the corner of his eye and it does something to his insides. Creates a warm, fuzzy feeling that envelopes him so fully. He likes it and just like the last few times he’s been in her company, he finds that he doesn’t want to let the feeling go. 

Scorpius is proud of himself, large grin as he rips the paper from Draco’s hands and runs out of the room. Rose and Hugo follow, both carrying their own drawings with them as well. He’ll never get over how well they get along. As if they’d been friends for their entire lives already. 

“You’ve never colored with magical quills?” Hermione asks him after she watches the kids turn a corner and leave the room. “Never?” 

Draco shakes his head. His hair falls over one eye and he pushes it back to no avail. He loosens his tie as it’s feeling particularly tight around his neck. “My parents weren’t very encouraging of activities that don’t enhance the, er… elite lifestyle.” 

He tries to be delicate when he talks of his upbringing. It’s privileged, he knows, and the things he was forced to take part in were so expensive and so ingrained in the childhoods of the elite Sacred Twenty Eight, that he feels like a gigantic twat bringing it up. 

“That’s incredibly sad,” she says and it’s the last thing he expects to hear from her. His eyes are stuck on hers and she lifts her lips at his shocked expression. “You may have gotten to learn to play the piano and how to waltz, but you’ve never colored? Draco, that’s tantamount to child abuse.” 

The little smile on her lips teases him and he can’t help but let a relieved chuckle fall from his lips. “You’ll have to show me the intricacies of coloring one day then, Granger. Perhaps I’ll pay you for lessons.” 

She laughs and he finds that the sound is something he wants to hear forever. It’s strange, how long he’s gone without her as part of his life, but how much he realizes he misses her being part of it. Is it possible to miss someone that hasn’t ever really been in your life before? He knows for certain that the answer is yes. 

“Granger, do you want to stay for dinner tonight?” The request is out of him before he can stop it and he ignores the faint roil of impending rejection in his stomach. He’s doing this for Harry, he tells himself, but he knows that it’s not the complete truth. He’s come to like this witch. 

Hermione considers him for a moment, her eyes darting between his. She glances around and he wonders what she expects to see. 

“Just you and I and the kids?” She bites her lip and he wants to pull it from between her teeth with his thumb, just like he does to Harry. “Just… us?” 

A soft smile planted on his face, Draco nods. “Just us and the children. What do you say?” 

“Okay.” Her voice is gentle as she tucks a strand of hair behind her ear and lowers her lashes. 

Merlin, has she always been this coy and pretty? Surely he’d have noticed it before. He stands, trying to ignore the feelings that are coalescing inside of him. He’s starting to understand Harry a little better now. How there’s room for two and what it means to want the things that Harry is asking for. Draco holds out a hand to Hermione to help her off the ground and as soon as they touch, he’s done for. 

“I brought you a gift.” He swallows around a dry patch in his throat as his magic thrums inside of him. If his heart beats any harder, he’ll need to be resuscitated. “Harry tells me that you know of the breakthrough we’ve had with magical influence?” 

She takes the book that he offers her. She’s voracious about it, opening it immediately and skimming through pages. He almost laughs, because of  _ course _ this is how Hermione Granger accepts books. 

”I do, yes,” she mumbles between mouthing words of the table of contents. “Speaking of, Draco, I’m sorry but I need to know…”

God, there’s her lip between her teeth again and his knees are weak with the desire to pluck it free. He juts his chin out and breathes sharply to try and gain control of his thoughts. 

“Harry and I…” She’s redder now and her eyes fall onto the book in her hands. He watches the pretty blush on her face and the way her eyelashes flutter against her cheeks. “That doesn’t bother you?” 

Draco glances to where the kids ran off to and then back to Hermione. He steps closer to her leaving only a small space there. He’s taller than her by nearly a full head and when his eyes meet hers, something in his chest growls. Like he’ll protect her from everything in the entire world if she’ll allow it. He feels mighty next to her, and the pulse of magic between them promises power and strength and it’s nothing he’s ever quite known before. It’s everything that’s ever been missing from him and he didn’t even know it until he  _ knew _ it. 

“He told you about our relationship and about our magical influence?” His voice is quiet so that she leans forward to hear him, putting them closer still. He feels dizzy in the most delightful way.

She nods and he doesn’t like it when her gaze drops from his and meets their feet. He uses his finger to tip her chin up, forcing her to look at him. 

“Do you imagine that this open relationship we have only works one way?” A small smile lifts his lips, conspiratorial in nature as his finger drops from her chin and he pins her with his stare. 

The gasp from her lips hits him right in the gut and it’s glorious. Draco likes that he’s taken her by surprise.

“But I –” Her gaze drops for only a solitary beat of a second and then it’s back in his, like she’s drawn to it and can’t look away. “I can’t believe that you’re both okay with this.” 

“Polyamory isn’t quite so taboo in the wizarding world, Granger.” It’s barely a whisper, so delicate the way that he eased her into the idea. “It’s not exclusive to wizards, either. Witches, many before you, have taken to multiple wizards.” 

She’s absolutely radiant with blush and he drinks it in, lets it wash over him. He’ll never tire of seeing that stain on her cheeks or the little breaths of air that fall from her lips while she considers exactly what he’s trying to tell her. 

“It’s all in this book.” He taps the cover, just shy of where her fingers are digging into it. “Magical influence has never been studied by the Unspeakables before, but that doesn’t mean it didn’t exist before now. I think you’ll be surprised by what you find.” 

A heavy breath warms his neck. He almost closes his eyes to catalogue the sensation but doesn’t want to miss a moment of this. 

“So, you don’t care that Harry kissed me?” 

“No.” 

“And Harry doesn’t care if you kiss… someone else?” 

He can feel the precipice that they’re on and he’s enjoying the way the world tilts as she figures it out. Like gravity is pulling her to him and he’s staying just out of reach until she’s ready. Don’t push her too quickly, let her understand on her own, let her own the decision that comes next because it would massacre him if she regrets it later. 

“Harry doesn’t care if I kiss  _ you. _ ”

He refuses to take his eyes from her now. Their gazes are tangled, intense, unrelenting. He can feel the heat pouring off her and it’s causing the most delicious feeling inside of him, a mighty strum pounding up and down his nerves. 

The silence between them drags on. In the distance, he can hear Hugo giggling and Rose telling both boys off, but he doesn’t let it take his focus off of the witch in front of him. He refuses to say anything now, the quaffle belongs to her, it’s her move. He’s merely watching every small action she takes; deep breath, flared nostrils, wetting her lips, jutted hip, fingers curling further into the cover of the book, feet shuffling. Merlin, she has so many tells and loves how expressive she is without meaning to be. 

“I…” she takes a step back and hugs the book close to her chest. “I’m not going to kiss you.”

It’s decisive. It’s final. He doesn’t want to argue but a pang of disappointment douses all of the frantic pulses that were running amok inside him only seconds ago. He nods his head, a small gesture, but will respect her decision. 

“Will you still stay for dinner?”  Draco does his best to keep his tone neutral and his expression guarded. He doesn’t want her to see how it affects him, the way she so easily turns him down. 

“Of course,” she says through a husky laugh. “Did you think I’d want to run away just because you want to kiss me? It takes a lot more than that to scare me away.” 

“Indeed.” He can’t stop the smirk that curls his lip. “That’s good information to have in my back pocket, Granger.”  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for all of the kudos and comments and recs. I’m floored by the amount of love you all have for this story! And a special shout out to sleepygrimm who made a stunning aesthetic for this story! 
> 
> <3 Next chapter is Christmas Eve! :D


	12. Out of Self Control

_ Drinks tonight?  _

She stares at the familiar script for what feels like hours. She’s had a good week – an informative week – until Ron came and picked the children up early for the Christmas weekend. He showed up on Friday night instead of his usual Saturday. She argued that she should at least get all of Christmas Eve with the children, but he disagreed and said that they’d have much more fun opening all of their gifts first thing in the morning with their cousins who were also staying at The Burrow for Christmas. Hermione couldn’t fight and so she let them go with tears in her eyes.

Harry’s owl flew to her window and tapped twice and when she saw his note, she immediately sent him a ‘yes’ in return. She isn’t doing much of anything on Christmas, so why not nurse a hangover? 

She’s sad and she’s tired, but Hermione refuses to let Ron keep her cooped up even without being in her presence. The kids will enjoy their Christmas and she’ll do something special with them when they get home on Boxing Day. They’ll start a new tradition, something just for them that will be so much more fun than Christmas at The Burrow, they’ll look forward to it more than opening gifts on Christmas Day. 

She’s ready to go in under an hour. Drinks in a pub with Harry. Cor, but she hasn’t been out to the pub in so long she’s forgotten what appropriate attire is. She settles on jeans and an old jumper she had lying in the back of her closet. It’s nothing special; a dark green thing that fit close to her body. She slings on her cloak and she’s ready to go by the time Harry steps through her floo. 

“I heard about the kids.” Harry steps right into her space and kisses her cheek softly. “I tried to get Ron to see sense, but then Molly is keeping the kids until the morning, so I didn’t want to make it awkward.” 

Hermione nods, understanding his predicament. “Let’s just not talk about it, okay? The kids will be back on Boxing Day and I’ll do Christmas with them then.” 

“I don’t know how you’re so calm about it –”

She raises her hand. “Harry, it’s taking every ounce of strength I have not to breakdown about it all. Let’s go to the pub and have too much to drink.” 

He listens this time and he guides her out of the flat by the small of her back. It’s a quiet walk to the apparation point and she’s wondering if she’ll have the nerve to talk to him about the book that Draco gifted her. Perhaps with enough liquid courage, she decided. 

The pub, a small little thing they apparate to in Surrey, is a dive. Harry loves it, though. He tells her that the whisky they keep in barrels underneath is some of the most flavorful he’s ever tasted. She wonders when he became a whisky connoisseur. The bartender, a delicious looking bloke with piercing blue eyes and short, cropped dark hair, tips his chin as Harry walks in. Hermione’s blown away at Harry’s familiarity here; she doesn’t think any one place in this world is as familiar to her. 

He pulls out a solid, wooden chair and gestures for her to sit. Hermione can’t help but glance over her shoulder and try to take in more of the pub. So many people are looking at them, it’s unnerving. Is he a regular here? She watches the bartender pour whisky into tumblers and then he’s serving them with magic from across the room. He already knows what Harry drinks. 

“Harry.” Hermione whips her head back around to peer into Harry’s eyes. Her mouth tugs into a slight frown and she leans into him to avoid prying ears. “Do you… have a drinking problem?”

She hears him chuckle as he takes the seat next to her – not across from her as she’s used to with other people. His heat is rolling off him in waves, even when he removes his cloak and hangs it off the back of his chair, he’s running hot and it’s seeping into her. A whisky is set down in front of her but she’s not paying it too much attention. 

“I don’t have a drinking problem,” he finally tells her, the quirk of a smile on his face. “The lads and I from DMLE stop in occasionally to wind down. And this is the pub where…” 

  
He trails off and she’s shocked to see faint color to his cheeks. And then it dawns on her.  _ This _ pub is  _ the _ pub. The one that he and Draco… She sucks in a breath through her nose and then grabs the glass of whisky and downs it one. It slams onto the table, she hisses through her teeth, and immediately regrets it when the liquid burns its way down to her belly. 

“Urgh, that’s awful!” 

She winces, pinches her lips, and tilts her head. Anything to get rid of the taste in her mouth. Harry, though, is sipping his drink at her side with a ridiculous smirk on his face. He’s spent too much time with Draco, she thinks. 

“You just took the equivalent of a double shot in one.” Harry tips his glass again. “I’d imagine that’s enough for you for a while.” 

The sting on her tongue is finally disappearing, but the back of her throat still feels coated in gasoline. “Great, wonderful night out, Harry. Time to go home.” 

She makes to stand, playful and smiling, but he grabs her by the elbow and forces her down in her seat. His eyes are sparkling and his smile is brilliant and she wonders now why she never quite noticed before how charming he is. It’s her turn to blush as his hand loosens and trails its way down to hers. 

“We’ll order you something to sip on,” he leans into her and she’s hit with his particular brand of spicy cologne. She feels heady and warm. “I don’t want anything impairing your judgment tonight.” 

“Want me willing, then?” She laughs, but it dies in her throat because of the way his eyes are pinned to hers and holding strong. She swallows the rest of the sound. 

“Yes.” He’s drinking again and he casts his gaze away to stare into the amber liquid he’s swallowing. 

There’s a lot of silence between them and she can’t stop the words that come next. 

“Draco gave me a book about magical influence.” 

She bites her lip and catalogues every small movement he makes. Sets down his drink, winces through a final swallow, flicks his gaze to hers and gestures to the bartender in a circle motion:  _ keep them coming _ . 

“It’s very interesting.” 

Remaining casual takes a lot of effort. She’s been reading the book for a week. Not once, not twice, but three times. She’s made notes on parchment and she’s chewed the corner of lip practically raw. There’s so much she never knew about magic – how it interacts with things around them, including people. It’s fascinating, but the book only had so much information. It was written in 1948 and Hermione believes so much more has been discovered with Harry and Draco working with the Unspeakables.

She watches his throat bob as he grabs another whisky and offers her a pink drink with an umbrella and a cherry. 

“Did you know that Helga Hufflepuff and Rowena Ravenclaw were lovers with Godric Gryffindor?” 

She really, really tries to make it sound as if she’s sharing an interesting fact and not accusing Harry of absolutely knowing that the history of polyamory in the dark wizarding world is vast and complicated. 

“Together. As in –  _ not polyamorous _ – but…together.” 

Hermione’s staring at him and biting on the straw and fidgeting with the cold glass just to keep her mind focused. He’s coughing, like she surprised him mid-swallow. Or, like he’s buying time to think about what he wants to say. She sucks down the rest of the fruity drink and doesn’t take her eyes off him for a second. 

“Er…” Harry reaches up and scratches at his scruff. He’s still avoiding her eye contact. “I actually didn’t know that, no.” 

“And did you know,” she doesn’t let him take a breath to change the subject, “that when magical influence was studied in 1945, it was said that a witch or wizard needed not one, but two paramours?” 

Hermione reaches in front of Harry and steals the rest of his whisky. She tosses it back and ignores the deep burn in the back of her throat and the roil in her stomach as it travels its path. He’s watching her now, seemingly unable to take his gaze from her. A quirk of the lips is all she’ll grant him while he’s stewing on her words. 

“I also didn’t know that.” He sighs. “Okay, yes I did know that, but it’s not like I’ve been trying to involve you in some illicit threesome with Draco.” 

“Haven’t you?” She raises a brow. The whisky and the fruity drink are doing a number on her inhibitions. Hermione, so reserved, is sitting on the edge of her seat and aiming her entire body in Harry’s direction. “Awfully coincidental all of this, then.” 

“We don’t even know if your magic and Draco’s magic will work together… in this.” He’s desperate sounding and his hand won’t stop carding through his hair. She likes him like this; taken off his guard. “But I  _ know _ that my magic and your magic sing when we’re together.” 

He’s so earnest, it makes her heart beat harder because she believes him. Hermione reaches forward and plucks a chunk of his messy hair from his forehead and pushes it back with the rest of his hair. When she pulls her hand down, her fingers glide across the coarse plane of his jaw and a smile tugs at the edge of her lips. 

“Does Draco know?” The skin of his neck flushes under her fingers as they trail down from his jaw. Brazen and Hermione Granger don’t often meet, but the sparks of magic are electric when their skin touches. 

Not many things can make Harry Potter lose his composure. He’s an auror and he’s steady and he’s certain. Headstrong, sometimes. But when the breath from his lungs fans across her face and his lips shine after his tongue sweeps them, she knows she’s gotten under his skin and she really, really fucking likes it.

“Yes.” It’s barely whispered and it hangs in the air for a beat. 

“And does Draco want…” She finally falters, the words stick to her throat. Her hand has finally reached his and she’s running the tips of her fingers over his skin softly. Hermione can’t hold his eye contact anymore, so it drops to their hands. 

Harry doesn’t let her pull away. His finger lifts her chin and directs her gaze and it’s almost like there’s something burning behind his eyes. “Does Draco want what, Hermione?” 

A sharp inhale through her nose is the only response he receives. Her eyes feel heavy, but not from exhaustion; her body is thrumming along to the various noises in the pub – other voices, soft music, the sound of footsteps and clinking glasses – but it’s Harry that it pulses for. Under his touch, she’s a mess. The book details exactly what she’s feeling now: exultation flooding her veins and creating a magic surge just below the surface. She can take down Lord Voldemort on her own, right now, if given the chance. 

Their faces are close and everything else melts away. 

“Me?” 

His finger is still pressed just under the center of her chin so she can’t look away like she wants to. So her face burns red and she’s pretty sure she’s suffocating under his gaze. Something flashes in his eyes – she’s not sure what it is – and his eyes dip to her pink, painted lips and then up to her eyes once again. She’s holding her breath and she’s fairly certain she’ll pass out if she doesn’t pull away from him soon, but he’s not allowing it, either. 

Out of the corner of her eye she spots two more glasses of whisky making their way to the table and she is desperate to reach for them and pound them both back if it means she can think clearly right now. Everything is buzzing, she’s got goosebumps on her arms, and her gut is clenched in the most anticipatory sort of way. 

“Do you want the honest answer or the hopeful answer?” The delicate lift of his lips draws her attention. 

She barely raises her eyes to his again before she utters the stupid answer, the one she knows she’ll agonize over until the end of time. 

“Honest,” she breathes. 

“He’s undecided.” 

It hits her in the gut like a cannonball and she never would have guessed that it would bother her so much. 

“But  _ I’m _ decided, Hermione.” He draws their lips closer still. “That has to count for something.”

Her lids droop for a fraction of a second and she thinks she’s going to kiss him, but he pulls away and she’s got another tumbler in her hand. Harry salutes her with his and takes it in one. 

“Why me?” She sips this time, smart enough not to set her mouth on fire again. Slow and steady, since she’s already fuzzy. “It’s not like I’m particularly open to being a mistress, and if your boyfriend - is that what you’re calling each other? - isn’t fond of me outside of our professional relationship then… why?”

Her heart pounds in her ears. She doesn’t really want the answer to this question. Obviously she’s had too much to drink and is making Poor Life Choices, but she asked and he’s considering her carefully with those to-die-for eyes and she wants to curl into herself and implode. 

“You’re everything.” 

Merlin, that’s a lot of pressure. She withdraws her hand from his and folds hers together in her lap. It’s hot in the pub and there’s so much noise that it’s making her vision swim. 

“You’re beautiful.” His hand wraps a curl behind her ear. “You’re clever and a brilliant mum. You’re my best friend, Hermione. Why not?”

“I guess I just don’t see those things.” 

Even saying those words out loud hurts. She hasn’t ever considered herself beautiful; pretty, sure, but nothing like girls like Ginny or Astoria. She’s clever, but it’s because she reads, and well, as a mum, she hasn’t fought for her kids… Ron has made sure of that. 

She’s not very playful anymore. The sting of self-realization knocks her mood down. It’s Christmas Eve and she’s in a pub while her children are probably falling asleep and waiting for a huge breakfast and presents in the morning and all she’s going to have is a hangover and loneliness. 

His thumb strokes her cheek and that’s when Hermione notices she’s crying. Because of course she’s that drunk. She rolls her eyes and swipes at her face angrily. 

“Sorry,” she hisses, “I’m sorry, Harry. It’s been a terrible day and you’re being lovely and I’m just a mess and -”

“Hey.” He grabs her hand as it wipes again at the wetness of her eyes. “Why don’t you let me take you home and get you to bed?”

Her eyes snapped to his.

“Put you to bed,” he clarifies and she swears he’s holding back a laugh. “Not take you to bed, although…”

She slaps him lightly with her free hand and snorts. “Harry!”

He stands and puts on his cloak and he’s got hers wrapped around her before he buckles it at her chin. She smiles as he grabs her hand and turns to stroll out of the bar with her in tow. When the fresh air hits her, Hermione stumbles. Harry holds her firmly and their chests are pressed together. It’s so cold that her breath is coming out in foggy puffs between them. She tilts her head up to laugh with him, but it sticks in her throat. 

His hand is wrapped around her upper arm and it’s tight and she thinks she might lose feeling in her hand if he doesn’t loosen it but then, maybe she’s okay with that. 

“Harry,” the fog dances towards his parted lips. 

“I’m running out of self-control, love.” His voice is hushed and gravelly and she can smell the spicy oak of whisky on his breath. 

There’s a reason she hasn’t been keen to be too involved with Harry and his open relationship with Draco. It’s complicated and she can’t do complicated right now, but none of that seems very important here and now in the cold with the snow gently falling around them and the bright Christmas lights of Surrey in the distance. 

She pushes herself on her toes and leans forward and Harry groans and grips her tighter still. Their lips are so, so close, she just needs to push a little higher and then she can feel that happy magic inside of her again. 

A whine leaves her throat when she can’t quite get there and he’s not moving in, either. 

“I don’t want you to regret this in the morning,” he whispers just shy of her lips. “I need you to be very, very sure this is what you want.”

She makes the decision quickly, lets her magic have its moment and she’s immediately rewarded when her hands find the wool of his cloaked chest. It zings up her spine and roars in her ears. 

“I want this.” 

Hermione grabs the lapels of his cloak and tugs hard. At the same time there’s a sharp pull behind her navel and the world spins around them. There’s a reason that she never apparates directly in and out of her flat; a table falls sideways and a lamp crashes against the floor and breaks into several jagged pieces. She’s pushed up against a wall before she can even gain her bearings and Harry’s pressing his hips into her so she knows exactly the reaction he’s had to her bold actions.

Hot breath on her neck, the feel of his soft lips below her ear, the noise he makes in the back of his throat – it all fires her up. It’s been ages since she’s been with a man and with Harry, it feels so right. Hermione rips his cloak off his shoulders and grabs at the hem of his shirt, but then she falters. His stomach clenches under the tips of her fingers. She bites the edge of her lip and tries to slow the slamming heart in her chest. 

This is Harry. Her best friend in the entire world. If she takes off his shirt, it changes everything. He’s patient while she wars with herself and pulls away from her neck to meet her eyes. They’re like this for ages, staring and having a conversation without words. She’s telling him she’s unsure and he’s promising her that he’s sure enough for both of them. Her cheeks are lit with a pink tint under his intense gaze and he’s so stock still that she wonders if it’s painful for him to hold back. 

She’s standing on a precipice. Warmth fans against her neck. Her body is positively singing against his. It’s nothing she’s ever felt before. So, she goes for it. She tries it. Something in her eyes must give her away because he breathes heavily and says, “thank Merlin” just before she presses her lips to his. Hermione sighs when he opens his mouth to hers and sinks against her while she is pinned between him and the wall. Harry wraps his hands into her mane of curls and tilts her head and deepens their kiss. 

Everything about their kiss breathes life into her. Her magic, that essential piece of her that’s always set her apart from others, is like the fizz of champagne in her blood. It almost tickles but in the most delightful way. She moans into his mouth as their tongues touch over and over again and then he leaves her lips to drag a trail of open mouthed kisses along her jaw and neck. The noises that crawl out of her throat are organic, starting from her gut and pulling through her lips. 

“Lift your arms,” she asks softly just next to his ear. 

He doesn’t waste any time – hands flying to the air where his shirt is flung off the very next second. Her fingertips drag against his abdomen where his muscles jump against her touch. So, she drags her barely-tipped nails against his skin in random patterns and dips into the waist of his jeans. The gasp against her throat shoots tingles down her spine.

Harry’s hands cover hers and then they’re wrapped in her own cloak. Hermione gets the message and works to remove her cloak first and then her jumper so that she’s standing in just her bra and trousers. Their bare skin touches and it’s exquisite. His warmth to her chill. Where his body is hard, hers is soft and where she’s curvy, he’s all edges.

The gentle exploration lasts for several minutes. His touch is like silk, except for his kiss which is like fire. It crackles and blazes and boils down deep in her belly. Before she knows it, her trousers slide down her legs and she’s hoisted up with her legs around Harry’s waist. Her back is the only leverage she has against the wall and Harry has her pressed so hard against it that she can barely move her hips and doesn’t feel like she’ll fall. He won’t let her anyway. 

“You feel incredible.” The words are whispered right into her ear and she feels it down to her core. Something inside of her coils at his words. 

She doesn’t have time to be embarrassed and she can’t stop to think any more about what it all means. It’s Harry and his body fits hers so perfectly it’s like they were meant for one another. She drags her teeth against his collarbone and tangles her hands into his fly-away hair. When she tugs, he hisses and jerks his hips and Merlin, she wants to pounce on him right this second but she’s stuck against the wall and he’s got his fingers on her hip to hold her steady. At least that’s what she thought his fingers were doing until they’re exploring somewhere else entirely. She’s flushed and gasping as he takes his time learning the shape of her body, the way she arches when he rubs a certain place or how she scratches his scalp when he dips a finger inside of her. 

“Harry,” she whines at his leisurely pace and tries to create more friction, but he won’t allow it. “Harry, please don’t tease.” 

“We’re taking this slow, remember?” He smiles against her throat and nips at her flesh and then kisses his roughness away. “Can you feel the way the magic moves between us?”

“Yes.” The s drags out through clenched teeth, she feels her magic, she feels everything, and it’s brilliant and warm and she never wants it to disappear again. It’s the most uplifted Hermione’s felt in her entire life; like she can conquer the world if only given the release she’s desperately seeking. It’s adding to the passion between them, like a stack of cards growing taller and taller and all she wants is to feel it crash down around her, but it won’t if Harry won’t just. fucking. take. her. 

His fingers are moving inside of her and his tongue is moving against her neck and if he doesn’t do something more – right now – Hermione’s going to force him to the ground and have him at her own pace. The only thing she can do is tug at his hair and she does – hard. His lips are hovering over hers with the sheer force of her hands and their eyes meet again after what feels like so long. Her lips part; his eyes are so dark green, filled with endless desire. It takes her entirely by surprise to see him so open, so needy. 

Hermione circles her hips, testing, and she watches his jaw twitch once beneath its shadow. She does it again and again until he pulls his hand from her, grips her arse, and walks her to the sofa. She thinks he’s going to deposit her onto it, but instead he sits and brings her to straddle his hips. Once his hands leave her arse, they’re unclasping her bra and then removing it so that he has full view of her body. She doesn’t think to be self-conscious, only seeking more of this feeling that’s occupying her mind, body, and soul. 

Everything moves quickly after Harry’s pants are shuffled awkwardly off his body. Hermione is cataloguing every second of it. The way his eyes bore into hers as his hips jerk up or the way his lips go slack when she slides over him. Smooth hands over her hips, kneading into the soft flesh before they glide up and explore her sides and finally her breasts. His thumbs run over their center and she doesn’t even mean to grind down but they both hiss when she does. They stay like this, barely moving, for ages, just enjoying the feel of one another, allowing their coalescing magic to build and build. 

“I could stay like this forever,” he whispers against her chest. “You’re so beautiful, Hermione.” 

She snaps, unable to hold herself back anymore. It’s like a dam breaks in her mind and all that’s driving her forward are the sensations rolling through her body from head to toe –  _ more, more, more. _ At first it’s as if her hips move without any thought – her body demanding what it wants and her mind is just along for the ride. Until Harry moves too, up and fierce, a snap of his hips while his hands massage her breasts. And then she moves, uninhibited, naturally, against him and over him and her hands are still clawing at his tousled hair. 

Harry’s name falls from her lips in quick, sharp gasps, and he’s panting in her ear. Something is going to snap, she feels it as the pressure builds in her abdomen. His hands drop from her chest and dance across the apex of her thighs. He whispers in her ear, tells her how beautiful she is, how much he loves her, to move faster, to fuck him harder, to come. 

Close, it’s tantamount to free falling off a cliff. The end rushes up to meet her, swoops in her belly, makes every single movement erratic, desperate. His hands are at her hips. Harry’s setting her pace and cooing in her ear as he nips at the sensitive flesh. She’s so,  _ so _ close to shattering. It takes one, two, three more ruts against him and Hermione explodes in a scream – his name – and a cry. He moves through it, takes all of the work off of her and finds his release only a moment later with her name falling off his lips and into her ear in a hot pant. 

It’s not until she drags herself from him and throws herself back against the sofa next to him that she realizes they’ve damaged every breakable surface in her flat. Picture frame glass, ceramic vases, her mirror. All demolished. And there’s a magic – palpable, tangible, yellow and magenta in color as it settles around them – that slowly fades away. 

Sweat is slick against her back and her forehead. Hermione wipes at it and turns to Harry and considers him for a moment. 

“Was that… us?” There’s almost a laugh biting at the words, but she’s breathy and still reeling. “Is that our magic?” 

He nods, also taking deep breaths as he gains his bearings. He’s sweet with her, running his hands over her hair and then curling their fingers together and bringing them over his chest so that she could feel his chaotic heartbeat. 

“You must be yellow,” he tells her quietly, eyes directed to the last remnants of the mist-like magic. “Interesting. We weren’t sure if I was magenta or blue.” 

We. Draco. Hermione breathes sharply through her nose and tries not to let it all bother her. It’s lovely, this with Harry, and she decides that if she’s okay with it, she cannot dwell on it. She’s okay with it, okay with this. She  _ is. _

“My magic is yellow?” She bites her lips and squeezes Harry’s hand tighter. “Magic has a color and I’m yellow. Like Hufflepuff?” 

He chuckles and the feel of it vibrates against her hand. She never really realized how sexy Harry’s deep laughter is, but she’s stuck on the sound, wants to hear it always. It pleases her that she’s brought it out of him and will always take the opportunity to bring it out again. 

“Are you okay?” His eyes are focused on her as if he’s waiting to catch a lie, a hesitation. He won’t find one. “I know this is a lot and I’d understand if -”

Hermione presses a chaste kiss to his lips to stop him. “I’m fine. I promise. It’s hard to find anything wrong with how perfect that felt.”

He’s grinning now. Something between them is different, she thinks. It’s lighter around them, but the energy is almost kinetic even though they aren’t still moving together. 

“I like you just like this.” He runs a thumb over the back of her hand. “Undone, relaxed. You haven’t been like this in so long.”

“I’m never relaxed, Harry,” she laughs tensely. “Between concerning thoughts, perhaps.”

They sit in silence for several minutes and even the sound of their breathing is even and quiet again. In all her years with Ron, it was never as easy as this. Silence that isn’t filled with accusations or guilt. She’s content, even more than that - Hermione feels the sparks of happiness at the edges of her thoughts. 

“I’m afraid to spend tomorrow alone.” She lets it hang between them, rolls the words around her head, wonders if she should take them back because she’s not used to being vulnerable. 

“Funny you mention that.” He’s facing her fully now and playing with her fingers and not looking in her eyes. “Draco would like to invite you to dinner at his. With us. And the boys.”

Hermione pales slightly and feels the pull of guilt in her stomach. “Oh, I couldn’t intrude and not after…” 

She gestures vaguely between them with her free hand and Harry grabs that one too. “We want you there, Hermione. Draco and I and the boys. Albus and James haven’t seen you in an age and we don’t want you alone on Christmas.”

“Alright.” Hermione tries to smile but it falls short. “Do you want me to bring anything?”

“Tink is cooking. We just want you.”

She catches the meaning, she’d have to be an idiot not to. Hermione’s cheeks flash red and Harry’s eyes are watching her closely. 

“Okay.” Blank face, don’t give away how fast her heart is fluttering or how quickly her mouth dries out. Just okay.  _ Okay, I’ll have dinner with you and your boyfriend after we’ve had sex on my settee.  _ Excellent, sounds great. But she’s blank faced and ignoring all of the alarms going off in her mind because she also doesn’t want Harry to panic. 

He levels his eyes with hers, pins her there and she’s on the verge of cracking when he finally relents. “Okay.”

And then he drags her into a deliciously slow snog while they cuddle up together naked on the sofa. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two Christmas chapters coming up before Tuesday! And I am SO excited to post them. You’re all wonderful and I appreciate every bit of encouragement on this story <3


	13. Must I Suffer?

“You’re late.” Draco’s waiting for him, still awake and wearing black pyjama bottoms as he paces around the bedroom. “When I said ‘drinks’, I didn’t mean to empty the tavern.” 

Harry laughs steps into Draco’s immediate space. “I’m sorry. Things were a little intense.” 

“How intense?” 

Harry flushes and Draco’s reaction is immediate. He pulls away and raises a pale eyebrow over one eye. They knew this eventuality would come one day, though Harry always thought it would be a planned night, something Draco would know about. He never imagined having to tell Draco that he shagged someone else as a surprise. Suddenly, it doesn’t feel like the right thing to have done and there’s guilt trapped like an air bubble in his sternum. 

“Right.” Draco breathes sharply through his nose and takes Harry by the chin. Harry wants to avert his gaze but Draco won’t let him. “Listen, we knew it would be you first. I didn’t even know it would be me, too, until recently. It’s okay, Potter.” 

His shoulders rise and fall with a big breath. Harry places a hand on Draco’s hip and digs his fingers in. He’s still afraid Draco will run. It’s been almost a year and he’s still worried that what they have is fragile, can break at any moment.

“Come to bed, Harry.” Draco’s hand trails from his chin to his hand and he pulls him along to the bed they’ve shared more times than Harry can count. Harry undresses quickly and slides under the dark duvet. Draco pulls him close, holds him against his chest, and loops their fingers together over his abdomen. 

“So, you and Granger…” He sounds more analytical than emotional, even and smooth.

“Yes.” Pushing the word out is harder than he thought it would be. “It just happened, Draco, I didn’t plan for it tonight.”    
  
He feels Draco’s chin nod against the top of his head. “I know. It’s alright. We knew this was going to happen eventually, right. No need to get uppity about it now.” 

“You’re not mad?” His voice sounds so small as it catches in his throat. 

He feels Draco’s chest rumble against his ear. “No. I’m actually quite curious – was she yellow or magenta?” 

“Yellow.” Harry turns his jaw up and smiles at Draco who is scowling now. “I tried to tell you. I don’t know why you’re surprised.” 

“The blue is so faint,” Draco mumbles against Harry’s lips. “Must I suffer your superiority at every turn or might I have a chance to be the better of us one of these days?” 

“I don’t think that the density of the color is any indication of –“

“Alright, alright.” Draco pushes Harry’s head back down and he’s sure it’s because he’s annoyed that he’s the blue and doesn’t want to discuss it, so Harry lets it go. “Is she a good shag, at least?” 

“Draco.” Harry pinches him playfully on the side and Draco laughs as his hips jerk away from Harry’s hands. 

“The way you’re glowing, I hardly have to ask.” 

“Go to sleep, Malfoy.” 

“What, so you’re satisfied and I’m left to fend for myself. Is that it?” 

Draco’s hand traces little patterns on Harry’s arm, lower and lower, until he reaches the band of his trousers. Harry springs to life immediately and groans when Draco’s hand brushes against him. He rolls over and hovers above Draco’s smirking face. 

“It’s not my fault it turns me on that you’re turned on by her.” Draco crashes his lips against Harry’s and jerks his hips up. 

“You’re a git, Malfoy.” Harry ravishes him then, doesn’t let him up for air, and has him preening from all the filthy things he tells him about what he has to look forward to. 

In the morning, Harry is pressed tight against a hard body and held in place by strong hands. He stretches and moves his hands around the bedside table until his glasses meet his fingers. When he slips away from Draco, he’s as quiet and gentle as possible because he’s been on Draco’s bad side first thing in the morning and he knew better than to wake the beast without an offering of coffee first. 

He pads through the house. When he gets to the den, he sees Scorpius bundled at the foot of the Christmas tree. He’s not sure how they’re going to place the presents before he wakes, but it makes his heart swell to see him there. Somewhere along the way, he didn’t just fall for Draco, but for his son as well. Harry stands against the doorframe and watches Scorpius breathe deeply for several moments before moving along into the kitchen to fix the coffee. 

For someone who spent so many days of his early years wondering if he’d even make it through to have children, Harry is incredibly lucky. He has two amazing, albeit troublesome, sons, an amicable divorce, an incredible support group of former in-laws, a sexy and snarky boyfriend with his own wonderful kid, and an incredibly selfless best friend. Sometimes Harry thinks that it’s the universe’s way of making up for the pure shit he’s dealt with – psychotic murderers, a lifetime of camping, nearly being eaten by a snake wearing an old woman’s body. Honestly, he’s owed this, but even if he isn’t… he’d fight for it every day if it meant he’d come home to it in the end. He thinks he wants to ask Draco to make their life together public, but he’s not quite sure how to broach the subject. 

Especially if they’re involving Hermione in their lives. She’ll need time, too. Hell, she’s not even with Draco yet. Who knows how long that will take and if it’ll even work. Draco sounded sure last night in bed, but Harry knows Draco will say almost anything if it means he can get a leg over.

What started as a good mood as he watches Scorpius sleep slowly turns into nerves. Should he have moved so quickly with Hermione the night before? He knows she’s emotional and he hopes he didn’t take advantage of that. Ron’s a foul git to her and she wouldn’t talk about it at all over drinks. 

He fumes about what Hermione said  _ after _ drinks. That Ron demanded the children for Christmas Eve and Christmas. Told her that she doesn’t have family, so she shouldn’t get her children for a family holiday . It took everything in Harry’s wheelhouse of patience not to floo over to The Burrow and hex him. It was only at Hermione’s insistence that the children shouldn’t be subject to that type of violence that kept Harry next to her until she fell asleep. 

The coffee pot chimes – a muggle one, because it’s the  _ one _ luxury muggle item he’s demanded Draco keep. Prat is addicted to the stuff now and actually gets snarky when Harry doesn’t bring him gourmet blends from London before he runs out. He smiles as he fills up his cup and takes a scorching sip of it. 

“You’re a saint, Potter.” Draco saunters into the kitchen and Harry smiles at the DMLE insignia that’s patched onto the old shirt. It was his first auror training shirt and Draco claimed it early in their relationship. He grabs Harry’s cup from his hand and claims it as his own. “Mm, you’ve gone to Maxwell’s House again, I see.” 

He doesn’t have the heart to correct Draco, nor to explain to him that the brand of coffee isn’t, in fact gourmet. Draco doesn’t notice, so it’s a win in Harry’s eyes. He pours another cup for himself and then leans against the marble countertop. Draco rests beside him, arms touching as they sip their morning beverages together in silence. 

“Happy Christmas, love,” Harry says after several minutes. He presses his warm hand against Draco’s face and plants a swift kiss on his cheek. Draco smiles, smirk lifting against the pressure of Harry’s lips and he sips from his cup. 

“Is she coming today?” Draco glances at him out of the corner of his eye and Harry sets down his mug on the countertop. He nods one sharp movement. “Find anything more out about Weasley?” 

Harry notices the dip in his tone, the way his molars clench and his jaw twitches, harder eyes set straight ahead without allowing Harry to see the fury that’d been there since they first talked about Ron having the kids for Christmas. He frowns at Draco and wonders when he started to care so much about Hermione – a development that Harry failed to notice until just now. 

“Too much, I think.” Harry pours another cup of coffee and sips this one slower than the first. “He told Hermione that because she has no family –”

A hiss falls from Draco and hits the lip of his coffee cup. 

“ –he deserves to have the children surrounded by his family.” Harry finishes quickly, seeing Draco’s entire frame stiffen while the words poured from him. 

“What are you going to do about it, Potter?” Draco’s words are through clenched teeth and barely parted, thin lips. “Surely you can’t think this behavior from the Weasel King is acceptable and the more you stand aside and allow it, the worse it will get. We already know that Granger won’t –”

His hand flies up between them, begging Draco to stop talking. He knows. Merlin, he knows exactly what he’s allowed to continue for ages now and he’ll likely never forgive himself for letting it go for so long. But with Ron, there’s a delicacy needed when you broach topics like this and Harry couldn’t… hasn’t been able to face him and risk making it worse. Now, though, he knows it has to be done. 

“I’m going to speak to Ron after Scorpius wakes up,” Harry promises him. “I’ll convince him to let the kids come back with James and Albus for dinner. Explain that Hermione is having dinner with us for Christmas and we’re family.” 

Draco’s eyebrows are high on his forehead and he’s staring at Harry as if waiting for him to understand something, but Harry just stares back. “You’re going to try and convince Weasley to allow the kids to spend time  _ here _ .” 

Harry’s chin tucks and chunks of hair fall onto his glasses. “He knows we’re friendly. I think it’s time he knows that we’re friendlier than acquaintances, don’t you?” 

The MLE insignia over Draco’s chest rises and falls quickly and Harry’s surprised to hear the sharp breath he exhales through his nose. Paling cheeks makes his dark eyes brighten and Harry has to wonder if it’s the wrong time, if it’s too much. He just thought, perhaps – 

“Finally.” The word leaves Draco in one, pointed breath. Draco’s arm is slung around his shoulder and he pulls Harry in close. “I thought you’d make me wait forever, Potter. I only have so much patience where you’re concerned and I’m presently stretched beyond my capacity.” 

Harry smiles, really smiles, and feels a sense of calm wash over him. His shoulders relax and his posture loosens as he presses his lips to Draco’s throat. “Bloody hell, Draco, you could have just mentioned that you’re ready.” 

“And ruin the delightful way you tense when we’re in your office and hear a noise?” Draco’s eyes are glittering playfully as his hand winds into the hair at the back of Harry’s head. He yanks Harry’s head back and crushes his lips onto his. Harry makes a pathetic noise in the back of his throat when Draco pulls his mouth away. “Not on your life, Potter.” 

“When did you decide that you want to stop hiding it?” Harry asks, relishing the way Draco’s warm breath washes over his face. It smells of coffee and mint, a constant little piece of his relationship that he wouldn’t trade for the world. 

“Remember the day you told me about Granger?” At Harry’s nod, Draco smirks. “Right around then.” 

Harry balks, his heart stutters. “That was almost nine months ago, Draco! You waited that long?” 

“Have you considered that, perhaps, I’m not the reason that our relationship remains a secret?” Draco’s fingers are rubbing tight circles at the back of his head. Harry decides he’s definitely enjoying the way that he pulls Harry off his guard and doesn’t give him a second to breathe, to digest, to wonder. “I’ve been ready since the moment I knew I loved you.” 

Harry closes his eyes as Draco’s lips dance across his cheek and to his ear and then to the edge of his jaw. “When did you know?” His voice is barely a whisper as he turns his body toward Draco and lets him feel exactly what it is he’s causing. A massive fucking problem growing tight in his pyjama bottoms. 

Draco sets down his cup of coffee and wastes no time before cupping Harry through his pyjamas, easing the ache with the most delicious friction. Harry tries to do the same, but his hand is pushed away roughly and Draco’s lips are just the shell of his ear when he’s tutting, telling him no. 

“I knew the second it became possible that I might lose you to someone else.” He squeezes Harry gently and there’s a down stroke and Harry whines before he can even stop himself. He jerks in Draco’s hand and feels his magic shoot through his spine – whether from the admission or the contact, he’s not sure. “I didn’t want to lose you, Potter. I feel that I’ve made that fairly obvious by now.” 

There’s skin to skin contact now and Harry hisses through his teeth. They stand there, Draco with his hand stuffed down the band of Harry’s bottoms and Harry rutting against him desperately, until finally the world explodes around him and he comes with a grunt against Draco’s shoulder. He’s shaking, heated with beads of sweat on his forehead. Draco’s wiping off his hand on his abdomen and drags him into a slow, sweet kiss while Harry gains his ability to breathe back. 

“I made my choice almost a year ago in a pub in Surrey,” Draco whispers to Harry. “I’ve only been waiting for you to make your choice, too.” 

Harry’s shoulders lift as he drags in a deep breath. He nods, certain, confirming, knowing that his decision is made. Everything will change and he’s okay with that. He reaches for Draco to return the morning favor but Draco shakes his head. This isn’t about who gets off when, Harry understands, it’s Draco refusing to be the only vulnerable bloke in Britain. 

“I love you,” Harry tells him earnestly, cheeks tinted red and fingers curving against Draco’s hip. 

Draco’s answering smile is brilliant. It lights up Harry’s magic all on its own. “I know, Potter.” 

It’s after noon when Harry finally leaves Draco’s home and floos to The Burrow to gather his children. When he walks through the floo and into the open living room, his senses are assaulted by the familiar sights, sounds, and scents of The Burrow at Christmas. Molly Weasley’s infamous cooking is wafting through the air, the children are running and screaming through the house like banshees, and shocks of red hair are dotted everywhere through the house. It’s brilliant and he’s sad that it’s all changing for him. He allows himself a moment to collect his thoughts and shove away his lament for simpler times before he walks through the rooms to find Ron. 

“Dad!” James collides forcefully against his legs and wraps his stocky arms around his thighs. “Dad, I got a sweater with a big J on it from Nanny Molly  _ and _ Uncle George gives me loads of sweets and –”

Albus crashes into the other side of Harry’s legs and immediately starts jumping up and down excitedly. “Me too, dad, me too! I’ve had droo-bles and, um, ice mice, and chocky frogs with _ your face on it _ I” 

The boy is practically squeaking with glee as he shoves the chocolate frog card toward Harry’s face. Harry grimaces and when Ron walks into the room with a bright grin on his face, he can’t make his face more appropriately excited to see him. He wobbles under the enthusiasm of his children and tries to focus on their energy, on their magic, and forces himself to smile at Ron.

“Boys,” Harry pats them on the head and tousles their hair, “Go gather all of your things while I chat to Uncle Ron, yeah?” 

They take off like a shot through the house again and it leaves Harry and Ron standing awkwardly opposite each other. Harry stuffs his hands into his pockets and raises his chin. Be confident, Potter – that’s what Draco had said before he left the house. His shoulders square and spine straightens. 

“Hermione wants the kids for Christmas dinner.” He pulls no punches, he lays the words flat at Ron’s feet and doesn’t pussyfoot around it. There’s no point. “She’s having dinner with the boys and I, and we want to celebrate with them.” 

Ron’s smile is gone, eyes darkening. His arms cross over his chest and Harry watches the way that his fists are balled up and clenching. “She send you here, did she?” 

“Actually no.” Harry approaches him slowly, one foot after the other and doesn’t break eye contact for even a split second. “She doesn’t know I’m here and would hex me dead if she even guessed.” 

“Well then, no.” His voice is hard, firm, no give at all. “I don’t get the kids during the week, and only three weekends a month. She has them for everything else and I –”

“She deserves to see her children on Christmas Day, Ron.” Harry matches his tone and adds the lick of anger to his words. They’re harsh as they hang in the air between them. “Don’t punish her for the divorce. That wasn’t her fault.” 

Ron pales and then immediately flushes to the tips of his ears. “Who do you think you are, coming into my home and talking to me like this? No, Harry. We’re not going to do this today. Hermione made her bed, she can lie in it for all I care.” 

Harry’s hands are fists, too, inside his pockets where Ron can’t see. His molars grind together and he takes a steadying breath through his nose. “You had them Christmas Eve. We’re asking for them for dinner. Spare them a few hours for her, Ron. Please.” 

There’s something like curiosity dancing behind Ron’s blue eyes. He think he spots jealousy there and it doesn’t worry him as it should; instead he’s proud to make him feel this way, to show him that Hermione won’t be a mess for him anymore. 

“I’m not bringing the kids to hers until tomorrow morning.” It’s final, end of. 

  
Harry considers Ron for a moment, eyes taking in every detail of his furious stance and then he nods. “Fine.” He spins on the spot, leaving Ron alone in the room. There is more than one way for him to get his way. He searches each room but he already knows where he needs to go. The kitchen smells divine when he enters it and finds Molly whipping around the place with her wand held high. Several ingredients float through the air and dash themselves here and there into different pots and pans. 

  
“Molly,” Harry greets her, entirely the opposite of his tone with Ron. It’s light, warm, loving. She’s as good as his surrogate mum and he can’t possibly imagine treating her as anything else. “Happy Christmas.” 

  
“Oh! Harry, dear!” Molly lowers her wand and stuffs it into her lacy white apron. She’s got him scooped up into a crushing hug so quickly that it knocks the wind out of him. “Look at you! You’re not nearly as peaky as usual. You must be eating and sleeping again?” 

Harry smiles lovingly at the woman. Always has his best interests at heart and he loves her dearly for it. “Everything’s great, Molly, thank you. We enjoyed your mince meat pies last week, truly. You keep us fed.”

She beams at him and pats his face sweetly. “That’s a good boy. Are you here to take the boys home? Are you sure you don’t fancy a Christmas dinner here with us? All the boys will be so happy to see you and Arthur –”

“I appreciate the invitation, but I’m actually having dinner with Hermione tonight.” Harry lays the foundation gently, so opposite how he did with Ron. “She was hoping to have the children tonight, but, well, Ron said they’re expected here.” 

Molly’s hands are on her hips. She narrows her eyes as Harry’s words roll around her mind and she considers what it is that Harry’s said. Harry watches her think; it’s fascinating. He can see so many different emotions on her face. She’s so open and unguarded. 

“Ronald never mentioned that Hermione had dinner plans for Rose and Hugo,” she says finally. Fishing. Harry tries to put on the mask of pure innocence, as if he has no idea. “We’ve had so much fun with them, and I don’t want them to miss out, obviously, but I hate the idea of her spending Christmas without them. I just don’t know why she didn’t come here…” 

Harry clears his throat and shrugs. “She said something about Ron being worried that it would be awkward for them.”

“Oh, pish. That’s never the case. We still love her,” Molly says adamantly. “You’ll tell her that, won’t you Harry, dear?” 

He nods. “Of course. Well, I should be going.” 

“Don’t you dare leave here yet.” 

She grabs his hand and drags him through the house. He knows Mrs. Weasley can move quickly when she’s furious and he’s being proved right as her short legs pull them from room to room until they find Ron. Molly casts a charm around the room and it takes Harry a moment to realize that it’s a silencing charm. He can’t help the devilish way his lips raise behind her back as he stares at Ron’s horrified face. Ron takes a breath to speak, but Molly cuts him off viciously. 

“RONALD WEASLEY! HOW DARE YOU KEEP THOSE CHILDREN AWAY FROM THEIR MOTHER ALL DAY ON CHRISTMAS! I AM ABSOLUTELY DISGUSTED! YOUR FATHER AND I HAVE NOT RAISED SUCH A DEPLORABLE HUMAN BEING! YOU WILL RETURN THEM TO HERMIONE FOR DINNER AND I WILL NOT HEAR ANOTHER WORD ON THE SUBJECT.”

Ron tries. “But –”

Molly cuts him off with a sharp look. She removes the charm, turns to Harry and drops the silencing charm. “Harry, dear, thank you ever so much for dropping by in your spare time. We will said some pudding home with Rose and Hugo.” 

Harry beams. His body is positively thrumming with glee. “Thank you, Mrs. Weasley.” 

“Oh, but you are such a good boy.” She wraps him in another hug and pecks him on the cheek before she zooms back off to the kitchen. 

“That’s low, Harry.” Ron’s arms are crossed again and his entire face is beet red. “Telling mummy on me.” 

“If you can’t tell your mum the truth, mate, perhaps you know that you’re doing something wrong by Hermione.” Harry raises an eyebrow and can hear the rage in Ron’s deep breath. 

Ron clucks his tongue and rolls it against his cheek. “Am I bringing them to yours or Hermione’s?” 

The grin Harry wears causes a painful pulse at the back of his head, but there’s so much pleasure dripping from the words that fall next from his lips. “Draco Malfoy’s place, actually.” 

Albus and James rush into room carrying armfuls of various bags and boxes. Each of the boys wears a smile too big for their faces and practically shake with unbridled excitement. Harry touches each of them on the shoulder and ushers them toward the floo. He can feel Ron seething at his retreating back, but doesn’t actually give a damn. 

“Six o’clock, mate. Thanks.” 

He calls out to Draco’s floo, making sure that Ron hears it clearly and then steps into the grate and disappears from The Burrow. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much. You breathe life into this story and my heart! <3


	14. I’m In So Much Trouble

Oh, God, she has a headache. A blinding headache just behind her eyes that radiates to the back of her head and down across her shoulders. It’s been ages since she’s had a drink and to rekindle her relationship to booze in such spectacular fashion was an eighteen year old’s mistake. She wants to vomit. And find her old hangover potion kit. It’s around her flat somewhere and she stumbles to the junk drawer in her bathroom. 

There it is, sludgy green in color and putrid smelling. She plugs her nose and tosses it back and tries to think of happier things. Like Harry. The way he brought her magic out the night before. The way he smiled at her and held her close and stayed to have a cuddle before he left her. Merlin, she’d slept with Harry. And it wasn’t a sweet, loving time. It was hot, like scorching fire replaced the tension and blazed between them until they both came apart. It’d never been like that with Ron. Not even close. 

The heat pools in her belly again and she flushes as the potion rushes through her body. The headache disappears first and then the roil of acid in her stomach is gone. Good as new and it’s wonderful to be a witch. 

It’s far into the afternoon before she’s primed and ready to spend Christmas evening with Harry and Draco. She’s dreading it after everything that happened the night before. But, Draco did say he’s fine with the relationship and they’ve been fairly adamant about it. If they tried to renege on their feelings about it, she’d leave and lock herself in the house forever and become a crazy kneazle lady. Life plans unfold before her as she slips a dress over her hips. 

The dress is a deep maroon color and the sleeves dip off her shoulders. It’s a dress she’s had for years but never wore because Ron said it was too short for family gatherings. “Who are you trying to impress?” he’d ask her. So she’d change and wear jeans and a jumper; frumpy Hermione over and over again. Now, though, she watches herself in the mirror, the way it clings to her hips and flows out to drape just above her knee. She’s happy with the shapely legs that peek through the bottom of the skirt.

For the first time in years, she uses her wand to apply rolling, full bodied curls through her hair. She wears makeup. It’s all very new to her, but she wants to feel beautiful after the night she had with Harry and so she does her best to feel it. She’s satisfied when even her reflection stares at her in shock. The reflection calls out to her as she makes her way to the floo, “I finally feel useful!” 

Hermione is laughing still when she steps through the floo to Draco’s home. Tink appears immediately as if she’s been waiting for Hermione to show up. Hermione smiles down at the little elf, donned in green and red checkered sheets and a poinsettia bow on her head. 

“Master Draco is expecting you.” Tink informs her as she leads her through the house. “He’s saying you are wanted in the kitchens.” 

Hermione gulps. “Is Harry –”

“Master Draco is wanting alone time with Miss Hermione. Mister Harry is with boys in the playroom.” 

She’s sure her face pales and there’s a wobble in her step as she finally gets to the doorframe of the kitchen. He’s standing there in black slacks, something she’s noticed he has a predisposition to wear. An emerald green shirt clings to his body. Kitchen towel over his shoulder. But Harry specifically said Draco isn’t cooking today and yet – 

“Granger.” 

He turns on his heel, barefoot, and offers her a tiny quirk of his lips. Hair falls across his forehead. She swallows as her mouth goes dry. Draco’s watching her intently, eyes dipping along the length of her dress and then some, and she can’t stop the blush on her face. The night before, straddling Harry on her sofa, comes rushing to the front of her thoughts and she wants the floor to swallow her whole now. 

“I thought it would be good for us to spend some time together.” He turns around again without another word. She has no choice but to approach him, her heels clicking against the ground as she walks to stand next to him. “My mother used to make the pies on Christmas Day. Tink is in charge of everything else, but it’s the one thing she’d never let the elves touch.” 

Hermione grins and touches his arm lightly. “My mum and I were in charge of the dessert as well. Dad took over the kitchen for dinner, but –“

His eyes are soft as they meet hers. So, he knows. She holds her smile. It feels good to talk about them like this, something Ron never allowed.  Dwelling, he’d called it. Mourning is hard to do when you’re not allowed to speak through your grief and she spent a lot of time locked in her own head, bathed in turmoil. 

“Well, if she’s as much of a swot as you are, then perhaps there’s a reason your father kicked you both out of the kitchen.” He teases her with a lovely smile, teeth and all, and drapes a Christmas themed kitchen towel over her shoulder when she smacks his arm. “Fetch the butter so that we can get this crust sorted.”

Hermione pulls her wand from the pocket of her dress – freshly made to holster her wand – and summoned the butter. She’s more intimately knowledgeable around his kitchen now and proud of herself for it. They work around each other for a while, laughing and joking with one another, occasionally dripping with sarcasm, but playful and teasing. It’s the most fun Hermione can remember having in the kitchen since she spent the time with her mum. There’s a familiar swooping feeling in her stomach when Draco catches her eye and winks before dotting a small scoop of flour on her forehead. 

She laughs and wipes at it with the back of her hand and then immediately runs the back of her hand down the side of his face. It earns her an amused “oi!” in return. It’s amazing that there’s no awkward tension between them, especially after her night with Harry. Then she’s struck, while wrapping the slats over the pie filling, that perhaps Harry hasn’t told Draco about the goings on of the night before. 

Her hands stop moving and Draco peers at her from the side. His smile falls. 

“Draco.” She’s serious when she turns to him fully and worries her lip between her teeth. He reaches forward and plucks it away and she can taste the sweet tang of apple on his skin. “D-do you… know? About last night?” 

He nods once, sharp, and then he’s facing her, too. Draco is so close, their bodies have very little space. The pies forgotten. She licks her lips and he follows the movement closely with darkening gray eyes. Hermione takes a very small step back; her head is cloudy, fuzzy, she’s overcome with guilt for what she’s doing to Draco. He, however, grabs her hands and pulls her in closer still.

“You can shag Potter,” he whispers, barely moving his lips, “but you can’t snog me a little?”

It’s a moment, a defining point in time, where she knows if she denies him for a second time, there won’t be a third. There’s vulnerability shining back at her from his eyes even though his tone is lighthearted. Hermione wonders, she has for weeks, and maybe it’s time, finally time, to see what it can all be like. Even the book says… 

She lifts up on her toes and hears Draco’s intake of breath before her lips are pressed lightly against his. As she moves her lips away, his face follows them and his hand is in her hair, clutching at the roots and pulling her back into him. Deeper, sweeter, longer. Their mouths open at the same time, heavy breaths exhale through her nose, she moans into the kiss, and she’s maneuvered back against the counter. His knee is between hers and that familiar surge of magic grazes along her spine and to her fingertips. 

Time is fast and slow at the same time and when a cough interrupts them from the doorway, Hermione springs apart from Draco still wrought with desire and longing. She’s flushed when her eyes meet Harry’s through long lashes. He’s staring between them both and she can’t believe how positively giddy he is.

“Sorry to interrupt what appears to be an intimate moment,” Harry chuckles when his eyes land on Draco’s. They seem to share an important conversation without saying a word to one another. “We have a very special guest at the floo.” 

Draco pulls the kitchen towel from her shoulder and pairs it with his before tossing them both to the side of the almost-finished pies. He leads her out of the kitchen with a hand to the small of her back and as she passes next to Harry, his finger catches her pinky and their eyes meet. He’s radiant and she’s flighty from the silent praise that she’s gotten this right, at least. It doesn’t dawn on her to wonder who their special guest is until she’s in the floo room and her two rambunctious ginger kids are standing there. With Ron. 

“Rose!” She runs forward and drops to her knees. She grips both children around their shoulders and pulls them in for a massive, too tight hug. “Hugo!” 

“Mum!” Rose squeezes back and Hugo bounces against her. “Happy Christmas!”

“Happy Christmas, little darlings!” She’s sure that there are tears shining out of her eyes, because  _ how _ could this be? “I’m so pleased to see you both. Oh, this is the best Christmas gift ever.” 

She’s gushing but she can’t stop. Hermione’s fit to burst when she glances back to Harry and Draco. Harry, with his brilliant smile and shining green eyes, pleased expression on his face. And then she glances to Draco whose eyes are tight, shoulders tense, but his lips are twitching up into an almost smile as he watches her coo over her children. 

“Rose, Hugo,” Hermione sits back on her heels, “Why don’t you find James, Albus, and Scorpius in the playroom and we’ll call you once dinner is ready?” 

Once they’re out of sight, Hermione is standing in front of Ron and smoothing out the wrinkles in her dress. She’s so happy that she can hardly stand it. She even allows herself to thank Ron for bringing them over.

“I didn’t realize they had cousins to have dinner with,” Ron answered tersely with a hand shoved into his pockets. He’s furious, Hermione realizes and she backs up a step. Draco is just there and Harry’s at her side. “You never mentioned it when we talked about it.” 

Hermione bites her lip. She’s fucking angry at his words but refuses to let her temper get the best of her. She’s not going to ruin a perfectly wonderful moment by playing into Ron’s games. She’s not going to do it. His jaw clenches, she watches the way the muscle jumps, and he levels her with a dark glare. Somehow, Hermione feels small and guilty. Her hands find each other and fidget as she tries to think of what she could have possibly done to earn this anger and then she feels Draco’s breath against her neck. Then, she knows. 

“I’d like a word.” The tone is callous, almost sneering and his eyes aren’t even on her though she knows who he means. 

Draco’s entire body is vibrating just a pace away from hers but she can feel it. And Harry’s glancing at her out of the corner of his eye. But she doesn’t want to anger him further, she knows  _ this  _ Ron and she can’t, she doesn’t want… Hermione takes a deep breath and nods, maintaining her distance even as she walks over to a corner further away from Harry and Draco who are watching her intently. Somehow, she ends up with her back to the corner, Ron restricting her ability to run. He does that a lot. Corners her like an animal. Force her to yield. 

His voice has an edge, an incensed lilt as it ridicules her quietly. “You’re here. In Malfoy’s home? With  _ him _ ? Bloody hell, Hermione, what the actual fuck are you thinking, having our children around… that death eater?” 

The final two words are louder than the others, pointedly ensuring Draco hears it. She hears a hard thudding sound and peeks around Ron’s stocky frame to see Harry holding Draco’s hand, keeping him in place. 

“He’s not –” Hermione brings her eyes back to Ron’s and recoils. It’s  _ that _ look. The one that still plagues her and makes her second guess herself. Her shoulders tense. Her eyes drop. She hears a foot scuff against the tile floor but can’t bring herself to look at which of them moves. 

“You and Harry are forsaking every single thing we fought for,” Ron hisses and he takes a step toward her, towering over her and blocking her in and she can’t see the others behind Ron. She wants to run, to hide, but there’s nowhere to go here in the corner. 

Hermione tries to find gumption, to make herself seem stronger, mightier than she is. She swallows and she stares at a space just shy of Ron’s eyes. “Draco has been here for me when very few people have, Ronald.”

“Oh yeah?” His chest puffs out. Hands on hips. Making himself bigger, dominant. “How?” 

Her lips move, barely whispering the words to Ron as her eyes drop to the floor. Submissive. 

“He offered me a job and I accepted. I get to spend so much more time with the kids.” 

He scoffs. She shoves down the growing unease and grasps at the last vestiges of strength she has left. 

“It’s a good thing, Ron, what with the solicitor’s bill you racked up fighting with me in court – fourteen thousand galleons.”

The noise he makes, the fury of it, straight from his throat, it cuts through the silence that follows her admittance. There is absolute, deafening silence in the room now. 

She counts to three. Deep breaths in through her nose, out through her mouth. There’s something happening behind Ron’s back, but she can’t see what it is. Hurried whispers, arguing, maybe. She tries to block it out. Tries to focus on getting away from Ron, out from under his influence. There’s a dumbbell sitting on her chest, caving in her stomach, and cutting off her flow of oxygen. She tries to remove it, tries to breathe through it, but it’s immobile and then so is she.

Something slams against the floor. Someone’s breathing is picking up pace. She can hear more scuffling, grunting, a popped bone - neck or finger, she’s not sure. The air around them is charged, baited, waiting. 

“So.” The word sits between them for a beat as the world snaps back into focus. She can feel the anger rolling off him. The world darkens around her, the luster and shine gone from it. Her vision sways. “You’re just whoring yourself out to Malfoy, then?” 

She gasps, eyes snap to Ron’s and she’s rooted to the spot. A statue of lead as both fury and anguish flood every part of her.

Everything after that happens in slow motion. Ron seems to understand what’s happening just a split second before it does. 

His shoulder is turned by a pale hand, face removed from Hermione’s vision. A fist collides with his jaw, a sickening crunch follows the impact. Ron grunts and collapses to the ground where he’s laid out cold. Draco’s hunched over, about to pounce on top of Ron and continue with the violence, but Harry’s in front of him with his hands on his chest, pushing him back. Draco roars an obscenity and tries to sidestep Harry. 

“Leave him, Draco!” Harry growls, scrambling to keep Draco from attacking further. “Draco, love, you can’t.” 

  
“Fucking let me have him, Potter!” Draco’s face is red, lips curled back in anger. 

“I’m a fucking auror!” Harry snarls. “I can’t just let you fucking kill him, Draco. Stop.” 

Harry places one hand over Draco’s heart and one on the side of his face. Draco cringes away from it but Harry doesn’t relent. He keeps dragging Draco’s gaze to his own. On the third try, the blonde shoves a long, deep breath from his lungs and closes his eyes. His face loses its furious red as he sags against Harry’s chest. They’re both breathless as Draco settles. 

“She’s okay,” Harry whispers into Draco’s ear. “You’re okay.” 

Draco’s breathing tapers and he nods against Harry’s hand. Hermione, though, is still filled with dread and she can’t get Ron’s words out of her mind.  _ Whore, whore, whore _ over and over and over again. She glances to Ron’s prone body and then back to Draco again, whose gaze is on her. Intense. Dark. Soft around the edges. 

The knot in her chest begins to loosens.

Harry steadies Draco and turns to Ron. “I’ll take him home. Take care of her, please.” 

  
He’s angry. She can see the sparks of his magic flickering behind his eyes and she wonders if he’s mad at Draco or at Ron. The way his hands grip Ron’s hair and not an arm, the way he drags him carelessly into the floo grate, Hermione thinks she has her answer. It’s not Draco he’s angry with. The knot loosens some more. 

When Harry disappears in a flash of green, Draco is immediately in front of her. His hands are on her face and he’s checking her over. Eyes dance along her features as his fingers travel along her cheeks and jaw and then her throat. He gently guides her to turn her chin left and right, and he’s gazing into her eyes like he knows exactly what to look for. Is she there, is she cognizant, has she… withdrawn. She blinks. Swallows. Licks her lips. There’s a metallic taste on her tongue, the flavor of anxiety. 

But she’s here, she’s okay. She tries to tell him.  

His lips are on hers and he’s prying them open and there’s warmth and wetness. Something in her chest snaps, pulls, stretches, and she’s slowly reaching out for it. She wants to be with it, wants to hold onto it and crush it to her so that it never goes away. His hands are sliding into her hair and he’s cradling the back of her head with his fingers. Draco isn’t pushing her, no, he’s allowing her to come to him, to set their pace, to take what he’s offering and claim it as hers. It’s everything she needs, a moment for herself, a second where her mind is free from submission and is in control of her situation. 

The dread that clawed its way into her bones slowly bleeds out and into the kiss. Draco takes and it and replaces it with something alive, something that smolders under his feather light touches. When she pulls away, she’s built back up. Whole. Composed. Grateful.

“Oh, Granger,” he whispers against her cheek, slowly dragging his lips across the plane of her face to her ear. “I’m in so much trouble with you.” 

She’s reddened around the cheeks and throat but she can’t find the energy to feel embarrassed when Harry flood back to the room. Hermione disentangles herself from Draco but he grabs her hand and holds it tight. Harry’s grimace is soon replaced by something lighter when he takes in her face, sees how relaxed she is with Draco standing at her side with his hand curled over hers. He says nothing to them, but his faint smirk says enough. Hermione bites her lip, Draco pulls it free, and Harry leads them from the floo room without another word about Ron. 

Dinner is mental. Five Weasley, Potter, Granger, Malfoy children all around the same table. The five of them sit at one end and whisper furiously. Hermione’s sure that they’re passing sweets beneath the table, but she doesn’t say anything. It’s Christmas. She’ll let them get away with it for tonight, sod it. She’s still struggling to gain her bearings, still trying to convince her body that there’s no need for all of this adrenaline, and so she lets the little things slide.

“Miss Hermione!” Scorpius waves his little hand over his head and smiles toothily in her direction. She meets his happy face with a smile. “Would you please pass the mint sauce?” 

“Mum!” Hugo waves his hand over his head, mirroring exactly as Scorpius had done and her eyes drift to him, amused. He speaks around a mouthful of food. “More carrots?”  

“Aunt Hermione!” James has his mother’s smirk on his face, but his father’s bright green eyes meet her gaze. “I want pie!”

In two seconds flat, all five children are begging for pie. They’re jumping – except Scorpius, who Hermione notices is being kept positively angelic by a pointed look from Draco – and curling their little hands together and giving her their very best, innocently sweet pleading faces. Hermione bites her lip and looks to Draco and then Harry in turn. Harry just gestures to the kids in an ‘if you must’ sort of way, but Draco is smirking and she can’t figure out why. 

“Alright, alright,” she tells them after far too long staring into Draco’s eyes. “I don’t know what you’re so excited about, honestly. The pie is made from the goop found in crumple-horned snorkacks anyway.” 

James pulls a sour face, Albus pales, Rosie is giggling into the back of her hand, Scorpius ducks his face under the table and she’s sure she sees his shoulders shaking, and Hugo is staring at Hermione skeptically. 

“Nu-uh, mummy,” Hugo says certainly. “You said that Luna is, er –”

“Barmy,” James mutters quietly into his cousin’s ear. 

“Yeah!” 

“Oi, you can’t talk about Luna like that,” Harry snorts even as he tries to defend their friend. “Really, Hermione? You told them she’s barmy?” 

Hermione shrugs and she can’t stop watching the way that Draco’s gaze is sparkling under the dim lights of the dining room. At her. Watching his amusement is something she’ll probably never tire of. It makes her giddy in the best way possible. 

“If it makes you feel better, Harry, I also tell them that you’re barmy.” 

Draco splutters, she caught him mid-sip of a deep red wine. Harry’s glaring at him and her in turn. 

“Don’t even get me started on what they hear of you, Malfoy.” She’s devilish as her lips curl upward. “Children?” 

“Git!” Scorpius, Hugo, and Albus all shriek, but then it’s Rose and James who cheer, “Muppet!” 

She’s caught somewhere between mortified and pleased as she stands from the table, entirely ignoring Draco’s attention, and rushes into the kitchen to grab the pie. Hermione applies a warming charm to both pies that she and Draco made together and then carries them out to the table where she sees Harry and Draco’s heads together. Obviously conspiring against her.

Hermione keeps a simple, sweet smile on her face as she dishes out dessert to the raving children. She only starts to worry when both Harry and Draco return her smile in kind.   
  


Later that evening when they’re all sat in the den watching the fairy lights twinkle on the tree, Hermione sits between Draco and Harry. The children are on the floor, coloring and playing with their new toys and unwrapping sweets, swapping chocolate frog cards, and chattering their teeth with ice mice. Hermione is content. Rosie looks up at her with a gigantic smile on her face and Hermione grins back at her daughter, for the first time parenting doesn’t feel forced or laborious; it’s natural and easy. 

“Barmy?” Harry’s voice is quiet and right in her ear. She’s flushed. 

“Muppet?” Draco’s breath causes a curl to graze the side of her neck. She’s shaky. 

Harry’s thumb slyly caresses her bare thigh, just under the edge of her skirt. She glances at him with a stupidly large grin when Draco mimics the motion on her other side. Hermione whips her head to him, same expression, and then she’s struck by what’s happened tonight. 

She’s said yes to them. Become a part of them. 

“Mummy, look at my dragon,” Hugo sings as he lifts his drawing to Hermione from the floor. Pride radiates from him and she beams at him. The wiggly-drawn dragon flaps its wings and there are three stick figures on its back. In Ron’s place, with yellow hair instead of brilliant red, is Draco. “It’s white like the one you rode over the countryside!” 

“It certainly is, little lamb,” she murmurs with as much encouragement as she can muster. “You’ve done such a wonderful job.” 

“Look at mine, Miss Hermione!” 

Scorpius lifts his into the air and Hermione gasps. She hears Draco laugh to her right and Harry chuckle to her left. There’s a troll – evident by a massive, exaggerated club and big, rotund belly – and three figures standing around it. A frizzy-haired brunette. A pair of glasses with wild, raven hair drawn too large for the figure’s head, and a figure taller than the rest with straw-colored hair drawn with one, single line across its round head. The irony of the drawing doesn’t escape her. 

“We’re definitely sticky-charming that one to the playroom wall, Scorp.” Hermione tells him proudly. Draco bristles beside her and she glances at him. “No sticky charms to the wall?” 

“Scorp?” He makes a face. “We’re not shortening his name to Scorp.” 

“I like it.” Scorpius says and then he’s right back to coloring with the others while playing with a licorice snap in his free hand. 

“No,” Draco whispers to Hermione. 

“Yes,” she replies just as quietly from the corner of her mouth. 

“Fine.” He’s petulant, quiet for a moment and then, “Only if you come out with me New Year’s Eve.” 

“Fine.” Hermione agrees tartly, still presenting a playful smile in his direction. 

“Guess that means I’m watching the children?” Harry asks, eyebrows high on his forehead. 

Hermione and Draco answer together, both peering over at sulking Harry. “Yes.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Christmas to those who celebrate. Happy holidays to those who celebrate other days of importance this season. I’ll be taking a week off to spend with family, and will see you with a new chapter around the first of the year. :)


	15. It’s Going To Be A Wonderful Day

He struggles to watch her leave through the floo every night. He knows she has to leave, knows there have to be clear boundaries, but fuck. Draco hates watching her go. They’ve been flirting more, little touches here and there when the kids aren’t looking. He’s pulled that bottom lip from between her teeth so many times it’s practically his habit more than hers. Every night after she leaves, he has to take a moment to collect himself before settling into his routine with Scorpius. Just a moment where he sags against the wall and comes to terms with how quickly, how fully, how unequivocally, he’s falling in love with her. 

  
He refuses to tell her. Refuses to tell Harry, even. Despite every knowing, ridiculous glance that Boy Wonder tosses in his direction while sitting on the sofa or eating dinner or lying in bed. At this point, Draco is refusing to give him the satisfaction of an I Told You So. 

But, Merlin, he’s fallen so hard and so fast for the little muggleborn witch. 

“Mister Malfoy.” Padma knocks his door open with a rap of her knuckles and waits for him to acknowledge her. She peeks her head inside, a brilliant smile on her face. “Good morning. You’re looking particularly peaky today. Again.” 

“You’re a right peach, Padma, you know that?” The words are light, playful even, as she sits atop the corner of his desk with her dark legs poking out the bottom of a strategic pencil skirt. He grins at her, a slight shake of his head prefacing his words. “Of course you do.” 

Padma bats her eyelashes in an elaborate, pouty way that draws a chuckle out from him. 

“You have a letter from your father,” she shuffles through the scrolls of parchment in her hands and tosses things onto his desk. “A letter from your mother. Harry Potter again – I still can’t get over that you two are  _ friends _ – and there’s something here from, oh!” 

  
Padma jumps off the desk and bounces in place. She holds it up for Draco to see the fancy cursive script in silver on the front of a black scroll. As she tears open the scroll, he watches. Her eyes dart around the letter, slowly widening as she takes in the words. Her lips move along with the script and he hears random bursts from her – ‘gala’, ‘charity’, ‘New Year’s Eve’. 

“Oh, I assumed I wouldn’t be invited!” Padma gushes, placing the letter over her heart and grinning. “I haven’t been to a fancy dress do in… Merlin, since the Yule Ball and that was a fucking disaster, let me tell you.” 

Draco remembers. No one was more cross the entire evening than the Patil twins. He actually chuckles and earns a lighthearted glare from her. “Ensure that you bring someone less… sour, then.” 

She smirks. “Already on it, boss.” 

“Good.” Draco rifles through the letters she’s tossed on his desk and sets them aside. “Do you have the funding completed for the Unspeakable project?” 

Padma nods. “Submitted to Lucius on Monday.” 

“Excellent, Patil.” Draco quickly scans the note from Harry, catching phrases like ‘work late’ and ‘raid’ and ‘rather have my hand wrapped around your –’. He doesn’t mean to puff out a sharp breath or heat under a blush, but it happens too quickly for him to stop it. “Send word to Potter and tell him we’re having lunch today.” 

“Sir.” Padma ducks her head with a secretive smile and glittering eyes and turns around to leave the office. Before the door closes, she calls back to him. “Shall I inform him that you’d also rather have your hand wrapped –”

“That’ll be all, Patil,” he cuts her off sharply. Her laughter carries through the solid door that separates them. “Fuck.”

Only a couple of hours later, Harry appears in his office. Face bright red and hair whipped around his head as if he’d been in a windstorm before entering Draco’s office. His lips are pressed into a line and Draco’s lips twitch as he approaches the desk. 

“Padma is a bit… forward,” he muses tightly. 

Draco nods with a chuckle and places his quill back into the ink pot. “She’s dead fun to have at meetings with Lucius.” 

Harry finally cracks a smile. “Have you considered introducing her to Nott? Given his inclination to incite a riot, perhaps they’d be a good match.” 

“Or, they’d watch the world burn at their feet.” 

Draco stands from his desk and unplucks the one button holding his suit coat together. It falls open as he stands in front of Harry. They’re quiet for a moment and then Draco pushes Harry onto the desk with his hands cupping both his cheeks. Their lips are so close but Draco stops. He notices what he hasn’t before; dark circles under Harry’s eyes, red-rimmed and screaming for sleep. He pulls away slightly and rubs a thumb over Harry’s cheekbone. 

“You’re not sleeping.” 

Harry blinks. “I’m sleeping.”

“Well?” The glare is so fierce it punctuates the sentence more than any inflection can. 

A shrug in return. Barely an acknowledgment. Draco’s hands tighten against Harry’s face. He hates the demands that the DMLE place on Potter, the way they capitalize on his need to remove dark wizards from the world. He looks run down, exhausted. And even if Draco tells him as much - which, he won’t because he’s also not an idiot - Harry won’t listen. He never does.

Harry wraps his hands around Draco’s wrists and pulls his hands from their grip on his face. He kisses each of his palms in turn and then holds them against his chest. 

“I’m sleeping as best as I can. We’ve had a break in a case and -”

“Yeah, yeah, Potter, I know.” His fingers curl into Harry’s chest. Their lives have been hectic lately between work, Hermione, and the kids. “Saving the world one sleep deprived leap off a cliff at a time.” 

“Rodulphus Lestrange died.” Harry’s voice is strained, hoarse. There’s a hint of a laugh biting at his words even as his eyes harden. “We’re raiding the townhouse tonight. If the orb is there, then we have to get it before anyone else does.” 

Draco can’t stop the automatic reaction to the news. He scratches at the skin of his forearm, long healed from a faded brand, absently as his gaze hits the ground. It will never stop, this shame he feels for the things he’s seen and done. And Harry knows it, knows it so intimately that his hand cups Draco’s jaw and forces their stare to meet. One swipe of the thumb against Draco’s throat and it forces him to swallow the sickness that’s brewing inside. He’s a broken man, deep down, but Harry makes that better. 

“You’re not them.” A firm reminder. Draco closes his eyes because the sincere gaze that’s staring back at him fucking hurts. “Draco, you haven’t been them, not ever. Not even when –”

“Just come back to me in one fucking piece, Potter.” Draco winces at the stiffness of his voice and his eyes soften at Harry’s responding smile. Damn him. “The Lestranges are cruel and evil. Their residence will be strongly warded even with the head of house dead.” 

Harry nods and plants a chaste kiss on Draco’s lips. Draco, whose lips are taut and pale with stress, holds him tight – an embrace and gratitude, a rare gesture of love – before letting him go. 

Later that night, Draco is on edge as he and Hermione share a meal. Tink pops in and out of the kitchen and makes a show of dishing out the food to the children. They laugh and applaud as Tink takes in all of the praise and curtseys as she bows out of the room with a toothy smile on her face. Hermione is giggling along with the children and Draco watches every tic of her body as it shifts under her laughter. 

“I’d like to make a proposition,” Hermione says as the children scarf down their food – Scorpius the only one of the three who behaves like a little gentleman. Draco watches her fork, the way she sets it on her plate to indicate she’s done eating, and a silent smile twists the corners of his lips because she’s picking up his habits. “I’d like to have Scorpius over to ours for the night. Rose and Hugo so love spending time with him.” 

“Of course. If you want to take Rose and Hugo home, I will send Scorpius through once he’s had his bath and –”

Hermione chews on her lip and he resists, yet again, removing it from between her teeth. Merlin, the swooping feeling in his stomach every time she does that is just absurd. She seems to realize it and her swollen, red lip pops out on its own. She smiles at him quickly and thrusts a chunk of curls behind her ear. His favorite thing about this witch is that she has no idea how unintentionally sexy she is. Draco bites his cheek and shifts on his chair. 

“I was actually hoping that you’d stop by for a nightcap,” she tells him softly. When she lifts her eyes to his, framed by long, dark lashes, he’s done for. “I know we’re supposed to go out for new year’s, but I thought, since it’s a Friday night, maybe once the children are settled –”

“Yes.” The word escapes him before he can stop it and he feels like such an idiot for the way his body hums at the rewarding smile he receives in return. This certainly solves his problem with saying goodbye to her at the end of the night. 

When he steps through the floo into her tiny flat, Draco ducks under the mantle and finds her sitting on the sofa with a book in her hands. He almost rolls his eyes, typical Granger, until he notices that she’s reading the History of Magical Influence and the apples of her cheeks are a brilliant red color. Something inside of him sings at the color on her face. He wonders which section she’s reading. He hopes it’s the effects of sexual attraction on magical influence. He tries not to think about it, tries to compartmentalize his desire for her until she’s ready, but sometimes when he’s alone and he’s picturing her there with him… Draco breathes out a steady, deep breath from his lungs and tries to clear his head. 

“You’re staring,” she says, amusement lacing her words. 

  
He looks away from her, so gracelessly awkward because he’s been caught out, but wants to avoid having to answer questions about where his mind is as he’s staring. His eyes travel everywhere in her flat; the plain white walls, the drab furniture, the peeling paint in the corner, the broken television – he  _ does _ like the telly, has the most delightful relationship with muggle football when he’s around Harry’s place. 

“Your telly is broken.” It’s glib and he doesn’t care. Whatever takes the focus off the way her chest rises and falls whenever their eyes meet. “What happened?” 

Part of him expects the answer to be Weasley. Buffoon as he is, likely put his big melon head through the thing on his hunt for food or whatever it is that Weasley blunders around for. But when her face positively glows and her eyes do their dance away from his, he crosses the room, sits down next to her and uses a finger to force her chin in his direction. Her eyes follow suit. 

“That’s, er…” She’s nibbling at her lip, Merlin, he’s struggling to contain himself and removes his fingers from her chin. Even her throat and chest turn scarlet. She mumbles and he doesn’t catch it. He strains to hear, raises an eyebrow to tell her he has no idea what she’s saying. “Harry and I, when we were… together.” 

The linchpin to his trifecta of Things To Turn Draco Malfoy On: nibbled bottom lip, exquisite blush, thinking of Harry taking Hermione on the settee, shagging fiercely enough to break a thick piece of muggle technology. He sucks in air, holds his breath, lets it out in a steady expulsion from between parted lips and fucking hell, he’s definitely turned on. Draco pulls his ankle onto his knee, blocking off her view from just how turned on he is. The way his trousers shift against him, he thinks he’s probably going to die any moment now. Undoubtedly, he will take a cold shower later. 

“Are you quite alright, Draco?” Even her damn innocence makes it worse. How can she not see what she’s doing to him. Or, maybe she can and the saucy witch is doing it on purpose. “Would you like a nightcap, then?” 

He nods sharply and presses a hand over his mouth as he watches her stand from the sofa in a pair of body-tight joggers. It’s how he spends the entire evening with Granger, on her sofa, discussing the ins and outs of various triad couplings and the significance they play in the world. He doesn’t care much, no one modern made the list, but listening to her discuss threesomes and the art of successful integration of separate relationships into a polyamorous, cross-paramour relationship shouldn’t turn him on even further. 

  
It does. 

When he gets home and is really fucking proud of himself for being nothing short of the World’s Most Well Behaved Gentleman all evening, he’s immediately immersed in a hot shower with his hand wrapped around his cock and his forehead pressed against the cool tile. It takes him no time at all to find release and it’s the first time he’s called out any name other than Harry’s in a year. 

It isn’t until far into the evening, near morning, when he hears scuffling at the foot of his bed. His eyes snap open and he tilts his head just so against the pillow. His heart beats fast as his hand digs at the bedside table for his wand. When he hears Harry mumble ‘fuck’ after a loud  _ thunk _ , he’s immediately relaxed. His wand clatters to the table again. 

“Sorry,” Harry mutters as he climbs into bed behind Draco. “Can’t see a bloody thing in this room with those curtains.” 

Draco’s tired, heavy lidded eyes roll as Harry’s arm winds around his torso and pulls him back against his chest. His body is warm and hard, inviting Draco to curl himself more firmly into Harry. He places his hands atop Harry’s, holding him tight, and his lips twitch when he feels Harry nuzzle the side of his neck with his nose.

“We found the –”

“We agreed no work in the bedroom.” He tries to stop the conversation before it starts because he’s fucking tired and it’s probably four in the morning and Harry doesn’t have an off switch. 

  
“It’s locked in my office and –“ 

“Go to sleep, Potter.” Draco nestles his head further into the pillow. 

“I’ll sleep later,” Harry whispers and kisses the back of his neck. Harry’s hand travels down over Draco’s abdomen, slowly and teasingly. 

Draco sighs, grabs his hand, and holds it against his chest. “You have to babysit five rambunctious children later. Go to sleep.” 

He feels Harry smile against his neck and it takes all of his willpower to not turn around and have his way with him. Merlin, Potter is irresistible and Draco has spent far too much time trying to be a good person today. Thankfully, within seconds, he feels Harry’s body unwind, hears his breathing even out, and follows the steady rise and fall of Harry’s chest until Draco’s also asleep. 

The steady beep of his alarm jerks him awake far too soon. Harry doesn’t move, so Draco slips out of the bed quietly and carefully. There’s coffee calling his name from the kitchen and he fumbles to the pot as if he isn’t simply tired but hungover. Blast Harry for developing this unhealthy addiction to sweet, dark caffeine; he can’t live without it any more than he can live without his magic. 

“You’re not working today, surely,” Harry whispers hoarsely not a minute after the coffee pot alerts Draco that it’s finished brewing. He startles and spins to find Harry and he can’t help the laugh that escapes him. Harry reaches up instinctively to smooth down his hair and glares at Draco as he nudges him aside and pours a mug of coffee. “What?”

Draco shakes his head so that his hair falls across his forehead. “Did you bother to check the mirror?” 

Harry looks down, hand still caught up in the mangled wreck on top of his head that he calls hair, and grimaces. Draco falls into a fit of laughter and pushes Harry out of the way of the coffee pot and grabs his own cup. Draco walks to the dining room and sits with his steaming cup of coffee, not bothering to see if Harry follows him. 

“What is it?” Harry did follow him, in fact, and bits of coffee slide over the lip of his cup. Draco hisses at the mess but Harry ignores him. “I’m wearing your pajamas – all mine are dirty. I have a shirt on. My hair is… my hair.” 

“When you were raiding last night, did you, perhaps, get caught by any rogue warding spells?” Draco raises his eyes as he sips from his cup and then vanishes the mess that Harry made on the floor. “Maybe a slicing spell, or a vanishing charm?” 

A notch forms between Harry’s brow like he’s replaying the night before. Then his eyes widen and his hand is on his facial hair where Draco is pointedly staring. As Harry feels the lack of hair on just one side of his face, Draco tries so hard not to laugh again and fails. 

  
“Bloody Rodolphus Lestrange and his fucking wards,” Harry complains. “It’s half gone, isn’t it?” 

“I don’t know,” Draco tilts his head, eyes sparkling with humor, “I’d say it half remains.” 

“Oh sod off, Malfoy.” 

Harry pushes away from the table and walks away, presumably to fix the hack job that must have occurred at work the night before. Draco chuckles into his coffee and watches Harry’s arse in his pajama bottoms as he scurries from the room.    
  
It’s going to be a wonderful day.  

Later in the afternoon, Draco stands in front of his full length, ornate mirror and examined himself. Everything about him is dapper. Perfectly matching silver cufflinks on a jet black suit lined with satin. His pocket square, a light mint color, is a choice made on the good authority that Hermione’s dress is only a single shade darker. It pays to know the designer, of course; Pansy owes him so many favors that he feels zero guilt calling one in to ruin the surprise dress Hermione’s chosen for the gala. 

He circles his tie around his neck and flips the collar of the shirt down around it. He sees Harry approach him in the reflection of the mirror. It’s odd, seeing Potter with less facial hair. He almost forgot the sharp curve of his jaw. There’s still a faint dusting of stubble along his jaw, but nothing worth maintaining with that fancy potion Draco had bought him to make it soft and manageable. 

“Are you still undecided about her?” Harry’s voice is soft in his ear as he reaches around Draco’s shoulders and begins looping the tie ends.

Draco’s eyes meet Harry’s in the mirror. There’s something hopeful in his eyes. He’s so afraid to ruin this, despite the things he felt with Granger when they kissed. She is warmth and kindness and good, and he’s Draco Malfoy, Abominable Ex-Death Eater. He doesn’t deserve her. Doesn’t deserve him, either. 

He swallows as the knot slides closer to his throat. “Yes.” 

Harry’s lips quirk at the corner as he situates the knot, little movements left and right, until it’s perfectly centered. He smooths down the collar and turns Draco around. 

“It’s funny,” Harry says quietly, lips barely moving as he fusses with the lapels on Draco’s suit jacket, “she actually said the same thing about you when I talked to her earlier.” 

He knows, without any doubt at all, that Harry is testing him. That familiar, knowing smile on his face, the way his eyes watch every tiny movement of Draco’s face, the way Harry barely breathes to keep from missing any change to Draco’s breathing. Draco tries not to react, to bite down the immediate reaction of calling bullshit – because they both felt what happened when they kissed – because he doesn’t like it that Harry knows. 

“Good to know we’re on the same page, then.” Draco shakes out his arms to straighten the shoulders of his suit and then buttons just the middle. “Wouldn’t want to rush into anything or leap off a cliff without having all the facts, would we?” 

Harry’s glaring now and considers him carefully before he clasps his hands onto Draco’s cheeks and hauls him down for a kiss. It’s reminiscent of their first kiss, where Draco knew – knew without any hesitation at all – that Harry Potter was his future. Harry’s trying to remind him and he’s doing a fucking fabulous job. Draco regrets having to pull away, but he does with a heavy breath and colored cheeks. Harry’s eyes are bright and so perfectly Potter that his knees are weak with want of him. 

“You’re bloody made for each other,” Harry says as he shoves him in the direction of the floo. As they approach the room, he sighs as Draco checks his hair in one of the mirrors on the wall. “Stubborn, pains in my arse.”

“Mmhm.” Draco grabs floo powder and steps into the grate. He’s got a brilliant smile on his face now, big and dimpled. “Love you too, Potter.” 

  
He’s gone in a whoosh of green flames and when he finally stops spinning, Hermione’s tiny living room fills his vision. Draco takes a moment to recover from Harry before he steps into the room and calls out for her. When she comes around the corner, his lips part and his mouth is dry. 

She’s stunning in green – a shade darker than mint just as Pansy had said. There are pearls around her neck that hang just above the dip of the dress’s cowl neck. Her hair is up in pins with curls falling in ringlets at the side of her face. She’s exquisite. It takes him too long to speak, too long to do anything other than stare at her and all of the bare skin on her shoulders and past her knees. 

Hermione clears her throat and he stiffens. He’s a pureblood, for Salazar’s sake, he knows better than to stare. Approach, kiss on the cheek, tell her she’s beautiful, offer your arm, escort her like a perfect gentleman. What not to do: stare, trip over your feet, press your lips against hers and back her up into a wall, nip at her throat, tell her she’s fucking gorgeous, be late for the gala. 

When they walk into the gala, she’s flushed and he’s damn proud to have caused it.

“Wow, Draco, this is –” 

Draco can’t stop the pride that swells in him. The gala was his idea and is one of the single, largest fundraisers for post-war charity to exist in the wizarding world. He worked tirelessly to start it when Astoria was still alive and while he doesn’t take part in the planning any longer, he is a benefactor and keeps the event running behind the scenes. He knew she’d love it here and that’s precisely why he wants to make an appearance tonight. 

“Are those glass sculptures?” She tries to pull him further into the room, but he holds her back a little while longer. She’s eager to see it all and her face is lit up in sheer happiness. “Oh, Draco, it’s beautiful in here – what’s all of that against the wall?”  

He chuckles as she tugs him forward again and allows her to extricate herself from his arm. Draco watches her with dancing eyes as she spins around and takes in the enormous room around her. The further she moves toward the crowd, the closer he stays to her. 

“Later this evening, we’ll auction those things off,” he tells her as she walks over to one of the tables and marvels at the items on it. It’s various pieces of wizarding history; books, trinkets, and artifacts donated by old pureblood families. “There’s nothing the elite like more than flashing their money at old things that shine.” 

“I wouldn’t say that’s a bad thing, Draco.” 

Draco’s entire frame braces as if waiting for the impact of a curse. His molars grind, a tic in his jaw as he half-turns toward the voice. He doesn’t realize that he pulls Hermione behind him and stands tall as if to hide her.

“Father.” Draco lifts his chin. He feels Hermione peek around his body and he casually shifts to the side. “I didn’t know you would be in attendance this evening.” 

“Interesting that you mention it,” Lucius says with a creeping smile. He leans forward on his cane and Draco watches his eyes dart to the girl behind him and then back to Draco’s eyes again. “I was fascinated to discover many people in attendance that are not on the official roster.” 

“You seem to have forgotten the Patils, the Lovegoods, and the Smiths.” Draco tries not to rise to his father’s bait, but that’s never been his strong suit. “I merely rectified a slight oversight made by your staff.”

“Indeed.” Lucius leers at him and Draco refuses to blink. “Well then, Draco, Miss Weasley –”

“Granger.” Hermione squeaks behind him. She rushes forward, hand outstretched toward his father, and before Draco can stop her, she’s shaking his hand and smiling at him. “It’s Granger now, Mister Malfoy.” 

“Riveting.” Lucius catches Draco’s stare for a long moment, bows his head, and turns on his heel into the grand ballroom. 

“Are you mental?” Draco catches her elbow and pulls her to him. He checks her for signs of… something. He doesn’t even know what he’s looking for. Lucius is dangerous, still, especially for a muggleborn. “You can’t just approach Lucius Malfoy and –”

“Oh, Draco.” She smiles up at him, a soft little thing that shouldn’t make his stomach twist, but does all the same. “I know he’s horrible, but I won’t let him think he has the upper hand with me simply because he’s Big Bad Lucius Malfoy.” 

“It’s not about having the upper hand, Granger.” Draco spots someone across the room waving him down and takes Hermione by the elbow to lead her into the ballroom. “He’s actually a danger to society and should be locked away indefinitely.” 

“He was offered clemency in exchange for –”

“It doesn’t make him less dangerous.” His eyes are hard and he’s struggling to stop the intense protectiveness he feels for her when he thinks of the way Lucius stared at her. As he comes upon Padma and her sister, Draco tries to school his features. He smiles, a bit too forcefully, and dips his head. “Good evening, ladies.” 

“Mister Malfoy.” Padma smiles and glances to Hermione. “Hermione Granger! That dress is beautiful.” 

  
“Padma! Why are you calling Draco Mister –” 

“Oh, this prat is my boss.” Padma waves Hermione’s question off. “I’m more interested to know why you’re here. I thought you didn’t attend these events. Ron always said –”

Draco’s teeth clench again and he interrupts the conversation. “She’s here as my personal guest for the evening.” 

“But, Harry –”

“Harry?” Hermione arches a winged brow and stares up at Draco. “Harry was supposed to come?”

Let the earth open up and swallow him whole. He’d welcome a nice distraction as such. Draco pinches his lips and tries extremely hard not to cover his eyes with his hands. Merlin, why he ever bothered to leave the house is starting to become a daily question anymore. 

“Potter was supposed to be in attendance and is otherwise engaged this evening,” he reminds her quietly before turning to Patil. “Where is your less-sour date, Patil?” 

“She’s grabbing the drinks, actually.” Padma grins and waves her fingers in the direction of the bar. Parvati, at her side, laughs into her hand. Draco’s surprised and it shows on his face; he’d always assumed that Padma had a thing for him. It must show on his face because she laughs outright. “Oh, Malfoy. I’m sorry to have misled you.”

“You’re dating Susan Bones?” Hermione’s disbelief matches his own as she grasps onto his arm. 

Padma, however, raises an eyebrow at his date. “You’re dating Draco Malfoy?” 

And then, much to his complete consternation, all three women fall into a fit of giggles. He tests out a chuckle in the midst of their laughter, more charmed by hearing Hermione’s amusement than actually finding anything-the-fuck about this evening comical. It’s been like a series of moments that clearly say, ‘Let’s fuck with Draco Malfoy’. Someone, somewhere is having a laugh at his expense, he’s sure. 

“Padma, it’s so good to see you again.” Hermione is wiping little tears off of the corners of her eyes, taking care not to smudge the light makeup she’s wearing. 

“I’m so pleased to see you so happy, Hermione.” Padma pulls Hermione away from Draco’s side and into a hug. She meets Draco’s eye over Hermione’s shoulder and grins. “We’ll have to go on a double date soon.” 

Draco watches Hermione tense. He scowls at Padma. She knows, has to know, about his relationship with Harry and now this. Fuck. “Sounds great.” 

When he’s finally, mercifully, away from the Chaos Twins and their dates – who, by Draco’s estimation could not be more opposite one another – Draco leads Hermione into the ballroom and to the edge of the crowded dance floor. He’s approached again by another sponsor of the event and must make time to say hello and smile, and as he does, he’s watching her. Hermione’s smiling at all the right cues, nodding at all of the right words, giving perfect, quotable lines, and is flawlessly charming. 

It’s a side of her he’s never witnessed. He really likes it. Probably too much. As the night moves along, they dance, share flirtatious glances over drinks and are being pulled in so many directions he can hardly see straight anymore. But, as midnight approaches, he spins her gracefully onto the dance floor again and pulls her close. 

She doesn’t laugh as much, but he thinks that it has nothing to do with how much she’s enjoying herself. Hermione’s eyes are on his as her hands wrap around his neck. It’s not the dance he’s used to, so laid back, so modern in its step, but he tries for her. He likes being this close, feeling her breath against his throat, the way her fingers play with the hair at the nape of his neck. Draco finds that he could happily stay here, just like this, forever without growing bored of her. 

“It’s almost midnight,” he whispers to her softly. Not long after he says it, the countdown begins. Twenty seconds to midnight. Draco brings a hand to her cheek and trails a finger along its curve. Fifteen seconds. “I’d like to kiss you again. But there are a lot of wizards here who would have an opinion about that.” 

Hermione’s lips turn up. Ten seconds to midnight. “I really don’t care what a lot of very old wizards have to say about who I do and don’t kiss.” 

Five seconds. Champagne whizzes around. He’s barely paying attention to anything outside of her gaze and the way her tongue swipes at the bottom lip she’s chewing. He plucks it as he’s been restraining himself from doing all night. His thumb runs along the soft, lightly painted pink of her bottom lip. 

One second to midnight. 

He means to take it slow. His plan is to lay his lips on hers, so delicately that it’s barely a touch at all. But when she pulls his face down and dominates the kiss, he can’t refuse her. Draco’s arms are wound about her waist, he crushes her body against his, and when she parts her lips for him, he moans into the kiss. There’s gold confetti everywhere, shouts, clapping, music, like an orchestra’s crescendo, and yet all he can see, all he can hear, all he bloody cares about is the way she tastes like the sweet drinks he’d had earlier, her warm breath that mingles with his, and the way Hermione curls into him when his hands caress her spine. 

Draco can’t lie anymore. Can’t hide it. He’s decided. 

He’s so fucking decided that he can hardly stand it. 

“Will you come home with me?” Her breath is harsh against his lips and her pupils are blown wide as their eyes meet. 

He nods and there’s no hesitation in the way she deliberately steps forward into him, twists her body in the teeniest bit, and suddenly they’re gone from the gala with a loud crack amid the new year thunder. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Back to our regularly scheduled, weekly updates! I hope you all had a wonderful holiday and Happy New Year to you! Thank you so much for your continued support and encouragement - it means so much! We have about 10 chapters to go after this, for anyone curious :)


	16. Say The Word

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I couldn’t make you wait a whole week. HAPPY NEW YEAR <3

Hermione’s knees catch as they land in her flat. There’s a quick breath against her cheek and then Draco grips her hips to hold her steady. She’s pressed into the wall with his hands roaming along her sides. He wastes no time crashing his lips down to hers, she has barely a second to catch her breath. 

This is twice now that she’s made the choice, that she’s made the advance, that she’s apparated them away into her flat and broke another piece of her sparse decorations. Twice now, she’s been fired up enough by them that she’s not thinking about all of the implications of what this means and where this is going, but entirely enraptured in the feel of a body – their bodies – pressed into hers. Hermione gasps against his lips as Draco’s hands move along her ribcage and then up to her breasts and yanks down the cowl. There’s a rip, beads fly around her, and the cool air of her flat meets the warm skin of her chest. 

His hands aren’t as gentle as Harry’s had been. He’s not tentative either. He knows what he wants and she’s thankful not to have time to think about it. She wants to feel this, wants enjoy the way his palms cover her breasts and draws a sharp sigh from her lips. Hermione is a master of getting caught up in her own thoughts, living there, and ignoring everything else around her, but she doesn’t want that to happen now. She wants to appreciate every sensation, from the way his teeth skim along her throat to the eager way Draco bunches her fancy dress up to her hips. 

The similarities of the night she was with Harry only enhance every shiver that dances along her nerves. She loses her underwear and his fingers are against her, but rather than the slow deliberate movements Harry made, Draco applies more pressure, moves faster, draws her to the very edge of crying out and doesn’t relent. He’s smiling around her nipple and his teeth tug gently at the sensitive bud. Hermione’s arching into him, panting, and every thought of comparison between him and Harry flies out of her mind.

“Bed-room,” she breathes heavily, hands pushing against his shoulders. He pulls his hand away from her and stares up at her through thick lashes. His tongue darts out and swipes once more against her breast. “Draco,  _ please _ .” 

They knock against several walls and every time, they’re distracted and kissing and moving against each other to create delicious friction. She’s lost her shoes and her bra, but he makes her keep the pearls on her neck. They’re both all but naked when she sits on the bed and slides herself back on it. There’s not a moment that she’s self-conscious about her body and she attributes it to the way her magic is sizzling within her, sparking every single time his eyes dip along her curves. He doesn’t allow her to dwell on all the things she believes is wrong with herself and it’s the most freeing feeling she’s ever had. 

Draco climbs up after her but he stops when his face is over her hips. There’s a wicked smile on his face and he doesn’t give her a chance to protest before his mouth is pressed against her most sensitive area. His hands push at her thighs, grip them so tight that she can’t move, and her head falls back just shy of the pillows at the headboard. She writhes under every swipe of his tongue and pass of his fingers inside of her. 

“Draco,” Hermione calls his name out when he nibbles at her. He likes to use his teeth, she thinks somewhere in the far recesses of her mind. Her hands are in his hair and she’s pressing him against her and it makes him move like a man possessed. She’s clawing at the roots of his hair and he’s pushing her down harder into the mattress so that she can’t possibly buck against him like she wants to do. 

He brings her to the edge again, she’s straining against it, chanting his name over and over like a plea for release. But he pulls away just as she’s about to freefall and a feral whine tears its way from her throat. She glares at him when he chuckles and crawls along the length of her body. His knees push her legs further part. 

“You are remarkable, Granger,” he whispers against her lips. He dips his tongue into her mouth at the same time that he sheaths himself inside of her and Hermione cries out as her muscles clench around him. 

Every fiber, every cell, of her being hums as her magic vibrates through her. She thinks she can taste his, a faint blue flavor that’s pulsing around them. Her nails – short and dull – dig into his shoulders and he moans against the feel. His movements are jerky as Hermione lifts her hips in time to each of his thrusts. She’s saying nonsensical things in his ear as his elbows frame her head. The heel of her foot finds purchase at the top of his arse and uses it as leverage to push harder against him and encourage him to move deeper inside of her.  

Every thrust into her coaxes a cry from her lips. It’s so fast, so hard, so perfectly satisfying and before she knows it, Hermione’s head is thrashing back and forth even as his hands try to hold her still by the hair. Draco’s teeth are on her neck and he’s sucking against her flesh and pushing into her roughly, barely pulling all the way out before plunging deeper into her. 

There’s a coil tightening in her stomach, tauter and tenser, until he groans into her ear and it snaps. She’s flooded with wonder and pleasure and when she breaks apart underneath him, he’s whispering urgent, impassioned things in her ear like, “come for me,” and “fuck me,” and “so damn perfect, Granger, fuck.” 

He doesn’t move from her right away. Instead, his hands untangle from her hair and smooth it back from her forehead. Draco kisses her gently, teeth catch on the spot of her lip that she’s prone to chewing, and his cock twitches inside of her, spent. 

“Are you okay?” The question leaves him in a single breath, just barely pulled away from her lips. His eyes are soft and staring into hers with a concern she wasn’t expecting. Hermione nods and he drops his head to her shoulder. She feels his chest rumble against hers and it takes her a moment to realize he’s chuckling.

“What’s so funny?” She’s just as breathless. Her body is trembling still as her magic starts to settle into a continuous purr all over, inside and out. 

“If anyone had told me a year ago that I’d fuck Hermione Granger into a mattress…” he pulls back and he’s smiling at her and her stomach tightens at how brilliant it is. He shakes his head and lets another small laugh escape him. 

“Yes, well, if anyone told me that I’d have sexual relations with –”

“Aw, c’mon, Granger, say the word.” One eyebrow is raised over his dark gray eye and she wants to kiss the smirk right off his face. 

She turns bright red as the word crosses her mind –  _ fuck _ – but she can’t bring herself to say it to him in that context. She shakes her head, a small movement left and right. 

He kisses up and down the column of her neck before resting his lips just below her ear. “Say it, Granger. Remind me what it is we’ve done here tonight.” 

“Well if you can’t remember after only two minutes, then –”

“Granger,” he growls lightly against her ear. Shivers make her body quake beneath him. She clenches around him and he drags in a breath through his teeth. “Say the word.” 

Her lip is pulled between her teeth again as he moves his hips slowly back. She’s surprised to find that he’s hard again. Hermione gasps when he begins thrusting into her slowly, deliberately, over and over as she refuses to say the word he wants to hear. She wants to kiss him, but he won’t, and her hands curl into the firm flesh of his shoulder again. She’s sensitive and every movement he makes has her gasping. 

“Draco.” She juts her hips underneath him, seeking more friction than he’s providing, the git. 

“You only need to say the word, Granger.” He pulls out and thrusts back in again and she puffs out a strangled whine of pleasure.

“Draco, please.” Her hands move from his shoulders to his sides and she’s clawing at him in desperation because the languid movements he’s using to press into her are just not enough. 

“Like this?” He drags a hand down between her legs and applies the most delicious pressure against her as he moves slowly again inside of her. She whimpers at the feel and tries to jerk her hips down into the mattress. “Oh, you do like that, don’t you?” 

He’s moving intentionally slow still and the feel of her climax is winding its way through her abdomen again. He’s harder now, thrusts more forceful but still leisurely. How he can stand it, she doesn’t know. It feels like he surrounds her, the pulse of their combined magic intensifies every small movement they make. She’s losing her mind in the most delightful way imaginable. 

“Harry likes it when I move slow,” he utters quietly into the shell of her ear. “I thought you’d be different. Such a shame, because I’d really like to take you faster, harder.” 

The way he says Harry’s name, like a gentle caress or a loving stroke, ignites something inside of her. Her legs clamp around him and she tries to draw her own pleasure from him. She moves fast, desperate, the desire of her magic, to feel more, urges her more and more. 

“Oh,” he breathes deeply and his hips snap forward. She thinks she has him and she keens under the new pace he’s setting, but then he slows again and smiles against her neck. “I’m still waiting, Granger.” 

She’s about to kill him, this slow and torturous teasing is holding her right on the edge of shattering. Her cheeks are on fire as her hands wind into his hair and she pulls him away from where he’s kissing her neck and stares into his eyes. It takes her a moment to build up the nerve and he hasn’t stopped moving so her lips are hanging open with small puffs of air leaving between them. 

“Fuck me, Draco.” 

  
She’s rewarded immediately. Draco’s hips snap ferociously and she’s sobbing his name because everything is still so sensitive and the relief from the friction is causing the most exquisite war between pleasure and pain. She comes undone entirely for the second time that night and he follows her over the edge with a wince and a snarl.

When they’re lying together with Hermione’s head on Draco’s shoulder and his arms wrapped around her body, Hermione watches the remnants of their magical signatures fade into the darkness. Her yellow to Draco’s blue. So bright, so beautiful, that neither of them speak as they watch it dissipate. 

Sunlight wakes her after a restful, deep sleep. Her hair is splayed over the light skin of his chest and his chin is resting on top of her head. It’s so still in the morning that she can hear the soft tweet of the birds outside her window. She realizes that she never even covered up before falling asleep and is twisted around with Draco, both still naked from the night before. Hermione smiles to herself and lies there for several minutes just enjoying the feel of his steady breathing. 

It's not until she realizes that it’s quiet –  _ too _ quiet – that Hermione sits up straight with wide eyes and panics. The children! They’re not home. They’re still at Draco’s with Harry and she hasn’t even bothered to check on them. Merlin knows what time it is. Her eyes fall on the clock and she sighs before pulling herself harshly out of bed and tossing on the very first thing she can find that’s not her ripped, discarded dress. 

She takes off at a run without putting on socks or shoes. The floo flares green and she’s in Malfoy’s house before she can even gain her bearings. She books it down the hall, straight for where the kids all sleep when they stay together. The hallway is long and it’s dark and she doesn’t see the hard body that she collides with until it’s too late and she’s knocked to the floor. Harry’s quiet  _ oof _ echoes around her. 

“Harry!” she squeaks and scrambles back to her feet. 

Merlin, she’s a mess and she’s wearing Draco’s button up and some fuzzy shorts that were shoved into her nightstand and she looks a wreck with wild hair that’s been matted to her head all night. Harry is trying to help steady her and he’s got a ridiculous smile on his face as he swoops his hair over his forehead and takes in her state of disarray from head to toe. 

“Good morning, Hermione.” 

Harry knows. He  _ knows _ and shit, the way he’s looking at her brings about a crimson flush from her chest to her forehead. She can feel how excited he is, it’s palpable around them like he can’t contain it. 

“Did you have a good evening?” 

She wants to turn around and run away. Hermione hadn’t given any consideration at all to facing Harry the very next day after shagging his boyfriend… after shagging  _ him _ . Oh, Merlin, there’s too much, it’s too complicated, and she –

“I’d say it was rather eventful.” Draco’s hand is on her hip and it’s tight and pulling her back against him. He’s so much taller than she is. She cranes her neck to take in his smiling face. “Granger was smashing last night at the gala. And afterwards, what do you say about that, Granger?” 

She wants to sink into the floor and hide there forever. Her eyes close and she bites at her lip. This isn’t really happening, it will go away, all she has to do is click her slippers together and say there’s no place like home… and dammit how she wishes she was Dorothy right now. 

When she finally garners enough nerve to open her eyes, Hermione spots Harry standing just a hair’s breadth away. His eyes aren’t focused on her, though, no. They’re taking in the man standing behind her with the curled fingers into her hip. They’re having a conversation, one she can’t hear, but the tone is present in the gaze they share. She’s redder still but oddly filled with something that feels like joy. It thuds between the three of them like the erratic beating of a heart. 

“Dad?” 

The exhilaration in the hallway is replaced with tension. Two shirtless men and Hermione standing in Draco’s shirt and shorts in the dead of winter. Hermione can’t move a muscle even as Draco’s hand drops from her waist. Harry spins from her, his cheeks already lifting with his fatherly smile. 

“James,” he coos to his oldest son. “You’re up very early. Everything okay?” 

“Hungry.” James doesn’t seem to notice anything wrong in the room. He approaches his dad with a big, tired smile and holds onto a massive stuffed, orange dragon. “Will you make pancakes?” 

Harry laughs. As much as he tries to make it airy, Hermione can feel the strain behind it. She pushes him forward by the small of his back and watches him skirt around the hallway with his son in tow. Draco chuckles behind her and plucks at the collar of his shirt. 

  
“You took off in a right fit this morning.” His eyebrows are high on his head, but there’s nothing except playfulness in his eyes. “Why don’t you go home and get changed and we’ll send the kids over when they wake up?” 

Hermione smiles at him, a little devil of a thing on the corner of her lips. She pushes up on her tip, tip toes and places a kiss on his mouth, short and sweet. “Right. I should have them home no later than nine for Ron.” 

For the first time in ages, it doesn’t make her wince to say his name. It’s a new feeling and one she’ll likely explore another time, but for now it feels good not to dwell on him any longer than as a passing notion. 

“Alright,” he nods his head and pushes a chunk of her hair behind her ear. Another habit of his that she’s grown quite fond of lately. “Keep my shirt, by the way. I like it better on you.” 

It doesn’t take her long before she’s back home, changed, and sitting at her little dinette with a very dark cup of tea in front of her. The paper arrives and she blanches as she unfolds the front page. Big, black, blocky letters read: HOGWARTS GOLDEN GIRL & DEATH EATER HEIR  SPOTTED TOGETHER AT WAR ORPHAN GALA. She’s used to headlines like this; Skeeter’s retribution for days passed is to be expected. What catches her eye, though, is the photo below the headline. Hermione is engaged in conversation with an Unspeakable and Draco is by her side. He has his hand on her back and he’s paying no attention to the person she’s talking to. All of his attention is on her, watching the way her jaw moves, wetting his lips as his eyes dip down to watch her speak. 

Hermione’s breathing catches when she realizes that Draco most certainly is  _ not _ undecided about her. It’s exactly the way he’d looked at Harry. Completely besotted. “Holy –“

Rose and Hugo scamper through the floo, loud as can be, giggling and playfully arguing with one another. She listens to them head straight to their rooms and then flattens the newspaper upside down against the table. She isn’t going to deal with it now. No. But she knows that she’s not entirely undecided, either. 

What should be a day of deliberation and basking in the wonder that’s finding herself in a strange, consensual love triangle with two gorgeous men, is instead drowned out when her ex-husband walks through the floo. 

Ron is disheveled. Stubble on his face, dark circles under his eyes. Something dark is radiating from him and she doesn’t recognize it. He’s always crowded her space forced her to comply with his demands, but he’s never exactly felt… dark. She wants to ask him if he’s okay. But the last time they saw each other was Christmas and she’s sure that the memory of Draco punching him in the face is still fresh. In fact, she convinces herself that’s what this is. He’s still angry. She has to tread cautiously. 

It reminds her of that time he’d worn the horcrux necklace and… Hermione swallows as he approaches in slow steps towards her. The kids run from their bedrooms and attach themselves, full-bodied, against Ron’s legs. He goes through the motions, tousling their hair, and sends them through the floo. 

When he spins around from seeing the kids through, his mouth is twisted in a frown. She takes an instinctive step back. His face is gaunt, almost, and so pale that even his freckles don’t stand out against his face. 

“I know something is going on with you and Malfoy.” It’s blurted out of his mouth with such fury that her only reaction is to stiffen and blink.

“I-I don’t know what you’re talking ab –” 

His glare silences her. He’s closer still and she can’t breathe. Her spine is frozen, feet cemented to the spot. She doesn’t know what to do, what to say. 

“Do you even remember what happened to you?” He tilts his head, eyes slits. “At Malfoy manor, when you were tortured and he did  _ nothing _ to stop it.” 

Hermione swallows, mouth dry and it hurts. “That’s not what happened, Ron. You didn’t see –”

“No, I didn’t fucking see, Hermione!” His shout makes her ears ring. She shrinks, shoulders slumping, assuming the submissive stance she’s associated with Ron. “If I would have, if I could have, Malfoy and all his fucking family would have been dead.” 

“Ron, it wasn’t like that. He – he  _ couldn’t _ –“

“He bloody well could!” Ron advances on her again. “He  _ chose _ not to.” 

Ron’s hand is on her face, soothing, sweet, gentle. A caress. She winces. It feels crass to her, out of place, unwelcome. She flinches back but he’s crowding her into the wall. Her eyes are on the floor at their feet and her hands are balled into tiny fists at her sides. Her chest rises and falls under the strain of her breathing. 

“Don’t you remember, Hermione?” Ron whispers. He’s so close that his breath fans across her face. “I fixed you. I took care of you. I stopped the anxiety. Remember?” 

She’s on the verge of tears. Her memories are cloudy. Thunder in her ears. He did do something, of course he did, because otherwise how could she have fallen in love with him?

“You do remember, I can see it in your eyes.” His voice is hard, firm, it coaxes her to meet his eyes. “And then you left me and what do I have? A divorce and my wife is fucking Draco Malfoy.” 

She can’t help it. Can’t stop it. Can’t force her mind to settle enough to control it. Her hand whips across his cheek with such force that his face snaps to the side. And when his eyes are back onto hers, it’s absolutely silent. His blue eyes are wide and his mouth is open and it looks like he’s caught between wanting to react and not knowing how. Her heart is slamming in her chest and she wants to run, run so fucking far away he’ll never find her, but she’s stuck. Rooted to the spot where she’s pinned under his gaze and she’s suffocating under the weight of it. 

He doesn’t move. Not an inch. He’s so much taller than her, shoulders so much wider. He could react if he wants to. She’s pale, hands twitching at her sides, deep breaths in and out. Her eyes haven’t left his. The moment seems to last forever.

Without a word, he turns on his heel, hands clenching at his sides. He doesn’t leave through the floo. Instead, he stalks to the front door and slams it shut behind him. 


	17. See Something You Like?

He doesn’t have enough tea. Coffee. Whiskey. Scotch. Water. Enough to stockpile for the apocalypse. But fucking hell, his collection of tea is severely lacking for someone who claims to be British. She’s shaking on Draco’s settee with a cup in hand and it’s almost gone and he has no more fucking tea. Draco has his arm wrapped around her shoulder and he’s soothing her with small, tight circles against her jumper. Harry, though, is crouched in front of her with his hands on her knees. 

“Tell me again,” Draco whispers and there’s an edge to it that sounds like the blade of a knife about to strike. “What exactly did he say to you before leaving?”

Harry watches her try to swallow. Her lip trembles, hand shakes around the cup of tea. It’s the first time she looks up from the cup of tea and her brown eyes are filled with anxiety when they meet Draco’s eyes. Draco is tense, shoulders square and lips in a taut, thin line on his face. Harry wants to tell him to soften up, but he’s afraid to speak. He’s furious and so far he’s been able to keep it buried. Opening his mouth will obliterate that. 

“He said that his wife is fucking Draco Malfoy.” She repeats the crass words with pinched lips that tug down into a frown. Hermione sighs and wipes at the corner of her eye. He didn’t catch a tear there, but he’s sure she wipes one away. 

Draco has murder in his eyes. “He doesn’t  _ have _ a fucking wife.”

Draco’s gaze flickers to Harry again. There’s a jolt in his heart when gray eyes finally meet his. Draco has so much more control than he does. He’s restrained, biting back his wicked words by pressing his tongue against his cheek. He tries to express to Draco, without words, that he wants to find Ron. As an auror, officially, and drag him into the department for harassment. Draco doesn’t give him any indication that he understands. 

“It’ll be okay, Hermione,” Harry says instead, determined to be the gentler of the two. His fingers dig into the flesh of her legs, to bring her to the present, to let her know he’s there. Her eyes dart to his and he tries to smile at her, to encourage her into relaxing. She doesn’t. Instead she sucks in a shaky breath and sniffs. “Hermione, listen to me, love.”

  
“You don’t understand!” The words burst forth from her lips with such ferocity that Harry nearly falls back to the floor. “It’s the first time I’ve ever,  _ ever _ stood up for myself. It’s the first time that I’ve ever felt strong enough to keep Ron from –” 

His ears are filled with cotton. He knows what she’s going to say and he can’t prepare himself enough to hear it. He bites the inside of his lip to keep himself quiet. Draco’s no longer rubbing her shoulder but trailing his long fingers up the side of her neck in lazy patterns. 

“ – hurting me.” Hermione leans over and sets her tea cup on the table beside the settee and folds her hands in her lap. “I feel like such an idiot for letting it go so long.”

Harry takes her hands and instead of crouching, he kneels between her legs. She’s staring down at him, her head tilting to the side as Draco continues to slide his fingers across her skin, and his lips lift into an encouraging smile. 

“This isn’t the first time you’ve stood up to him,” he reminds her softly. His thumbs caress her knuckles. “You’ve been through my memories, Hermione. You know what Ron’s put you through. You’ve seen how oppressed you were when you were married to him.” 

She nods stiffly and drops her eyes to their hands. He’s grateful when Draco’s fingers gently lift her chin so that she’s forced to look into his eyes again. He’s so quiet, it’s almost as if they’ve switched mindsets; from gentle to silent rage. 

“He knocked you down so many times,” Harry says harshly, hands tightening in hers. “You stood up to him and then he’d demolish you all over again.” 

“I didn’t try hard enough,” she murmurs sadly and he can tell she desperately wants to avert her gaze again but he won’t let her. 

Harry moves from the ground to the small space next to her so that she’s crowded between him and Draco. “You did your best, Hermione. It’s me that didn’t do enough. I should have fucking stopped it the second that I noticed what was happening, but –”

Hermione’s shaking her head and it’s her hand that’s caressing his and soothing him. Even Draco’s eyes are soft and on him, void of the storm that was there only moments before. Harry doesn’t want the forgiveness. He’s been a terrible friend, allowing something so horrible to happen to Hermione for so long. 

“You did try.” It’s firm, leaves no room for argument, but he still wants to try. She cuts him off when he opens his mouth. “Harry. I wouldn’t have listened to you. I  _ didn’t _ listen to you. You tried to get me alone and I… I didn’t want to bear the burden of Ron’s jealousy. I couldn’t. Not until I saw it through your eyes.”

He remembers that day. Ron had the children at Ginny’s match. Hermione was home alone and so Harry took his opportunity. The look on her face when she moved from memory to memory ranged from shock to anger to bitterness and sadness and he caught her at the end as she sobbed in his arms. Just the memory of that day fills him with rage. He doesn’t realize that he’s shaking until Draco’s frame settles against him, strong and firm and steady. The things that Draco has been for him all along. The things he hasn’t been for Hermione. 

“Potter.” It’s Draco’s voice in his ear, a soft melodic breath of words to calm him. “Potter, there’s nothing you can do. You can’t go back.” 

  
“I  _ could _ go back,” he disagrees hoarsely. “I could go back and force her to see –”

Draco’s hands are on his face. Affectionate, tender, as he lifts Harry’s face and meets his gaze with soft, understanding eyes. They don’t speak and Harry doesn’t think they have to; Draco is pulling him from the ledge, yanking him back from the face of the cliff, and he’s so intense as he lets his fingers explore the planes of Harry’s cheek and jaw and rest finally against the knot on his throat. 

“You couldn’t, Potter,” Draco says delicately. His lips are so close and Harry’s breath is coming out in gasps that slow under his watchful eyes. “Time travel is highly volatile and if you think I’d allow you to do anything that would jeopardize this –”

His lips are full and soft and ply Harry’s open in a heartbeat as soon as they touch. It’s demanding, promising, steady. The way Draco’s tongue slides against his, the warmth of their breath between them, hands stroking the sensitive flesh of his throat, it stops the erratic beating inside Harry’s chest and forces him to calm down. The way only Draco can. 

“Oh.” 

It’s a soft gasp from Hermione and the men pull apart. Harry doesn’t open his eyes, can’t bring himself to yet. His forehead rests against Draco’s chest as Draco turns from him to look at the witch next to them. The first time she sees them like this, intimate, close, in love, and Harry has to be a raving mess during it. Draco’s fingers don’t stop moving against the column of his neck. 

“See something you like, Granger?” 

A challenge, issued so confidently that Harry swallows around a sudden, dry patch in his throat. Something flutters inside of him, so opposite to the chaotic thudding of his heart. It sends shivers through him and lights his magic on fire. Harry finally lifts his head from Draco’s chest and peers at Hermione. She’s lit up, more color on her face than has been there since she came through the floo. Her fingers are tangled together in her lap, strained. Her chest rises and falls under the weight of her jumper and when his eyes flick up to hers, she’s staring so intently at the pair of them that Harry’s cock jumps in his jeans. 

Harry leans forward, pressed so roughly against Draco’s legs that they move along with his body, and places a hand on Hermione’s cheek. 

“I don’t know how you’ll ever forgive me,” he whispers and wets his lips because her eyes drop to them and he knows Draco can feel the effect against his leg. 

“There’s nothing to forgive.” Her words are barely a breath, so low and earnest. 

Draco’s hand is between his shoulder blades and give him a subtle nudge forward. Harry doesn’t need the encouragement, already intent on capturing her lips in his from the very second she’d caught his stare and blinked and left in her confusion’s wake was pure desire lit up behind brown, flickering eyes. It’s soft at first, a mere touch of lips, and then Draco’s hand is in Harry’s hair and pushing him firmer against Hermione’s lips. She makes a noise in the back of her throat and he forgets his balance. Hands slide up to her hair and hold her against him, deepening the kiss. He can hear Draco’s sharp breath and smiles against Hermione’s lips. 

When he pulls away from her, Hermione’s eyes are still closed and her mouth is open in the most inviting way. Draco shifts under him as Harry moves back. It’s Harry’s turn to lose a gulp when he watches the way that Draco presses his lips to hers. He gives her no time to ease into the kiss and instead it’s immediately deep. Hermione moans into his mouth and Harry can feel precisely the effect that the witch is having on him.

They’re both panting when Draco finally backs away and removes his hands from her tangled mess of hair. It’s quiet all except the wild rhythm of his heart as it threatens to leave through his throat. He wants to push, wants to kiss her again, and coax her into another kiss with both of them. He wants her to feel exactly what it is to have their magic sing together, the pulse of yellow and blue and magenta in one, explosive flash. But he won’t and he fucking hates that he won’t, but they need her to decide, need her to be the one to choose them both.

He bites back a groan. Draco shifts his body atop his and it creates friction and all of Harry’s willpower goes into not jerking his hips. His bloody cheek is going to be raw with want of them both. 

Hermione’s eyes are open and her lips are decorated with a crooked smile. She flicks her gaze between them with a lovely flush on the apples of her cheeks. Her fingers are no longer twisted into each other and instead she’s gripping onto the hem of her jumper so tight it’s like she’s trying to stop herself ripping it off. Draco shifts again and it nearly draws a whimper out of him. 

“I think it’s time for you to move in, Granger.” 

Harry stiffens. They hadn’t talked about this. His gaze swings from Hermione’s satisfied post-kiss flush to Draco’s determined, set gray eyes that pin her to the spot. They can’t talk about this. It will backfire in their faces. It isn’t time yet. It isn’t what they planned. 

“I’m sorry?” She starts, eyebrows high as she considers the blonde. There’s a bite of laughter in her voice. “Move in? Here?” 

“Traditionally, the nanny of a pureblood heir lives with their employer family.” Draco juts his chin and Harry watches the planes of his throat constrict. He’s nervous even with the confident steel of his eyes as he watches Hermione. He thinks it’s fascinating – as an auror and a boyfriend. 

A edgy laugh fills the small space between them. “Traditionally, the nanny of an heir is nothing short of a servant, barely treated better than a house elf.” 

Harry’s eyes snap to Draco, a notch between his brows. Draco takes a short, deep breath and shakes his head so a little chunk of platinum hair falls across his forehead and into his eyes. It takes a lot of strength for Harry not to smooth it away, but he’s engrossed with the exchange; he figured they’d get here eventually. The Pureblood and the Muggleborn; the former war hero and the defected death eater. Harry braces himself for a fight that never comes. 

“I don’t need a servant,” he whispers in response, though the tone is soft it is also resolute. “However, I do need you to be safe.”

Harry observes a silent conversation between them, expressive eyes as Hermione tries to gauge Draco’s need for her to be safe versus his need for a live-in nanny. And Draco’s sincerity as his eyes widen just a fraction, the way they always do when he’s imploring someone to believe him. Harry places a hand on Draco’s and swipes his thumb across his knuckles gently. 

“Hermione,” Harry interrupts them quietly, drawing his eyes slowly from Draco to her. Well, if they’re going to do this now, he might as well fight for it. “You’ll never have to be alone with Ron again.”

  
She nods, eyes wet at the corners. “I know. We’ll need to set rules.” 

Draco’s hand squeezes his and Harry returns it like a reflex. “Outside of working hours, you can do whatever it is you want to do. I pay you only to be Scorpius’ nanny and nothing else.” 

“Nothing else changes?” 

Harry knows that smirk on Draco’s face like most people know the alphabet. A permanent fixture in his mind, something you instinctively recognize regardless how long it’s been since you’ve encountered it. It brings a smile to Harry’s face, though he tries to smother it because of the way that Hermione is glancing between them. A curious, almost nervous sort of question in her eyes while she considers their reactions to her question. 

“That,” Draco finds her eyes and Harry watches his brow rise slightly. A challenge of sorts. “is entirely up to you, Granger.” 

Her face lights up. Red splotches from her tears are blending into the beautiful blush that creeps along her cheeks and though her eyes are rimmed red from so many stinging tears, they’re also bright and wide and so expressive that it makes Harry’s knees weak. Something squirms in his belly, something roars between his ears, and he realizes that watching Draco fall in love with Hermione – and vice versa – might be the missing piece of his soul after all. 

“Okay.” There’s a playful little curl to Hermione’s lip. “Under one condition, though.” 

“Name it.” He’s serious, and Harry thinks Hermione can name almost anything in the entire universe and Draco would agree. He holds his breath. 

“Harry and the boys move in, too.” 

Her eyes dance between them and he’s desperate to know what she’s thinking, to know if she  _ knows _ and is just testing them to tell her the truth. He exhales and opens his mouth to speak but Draco’s grip is tight on his hand and he stops. 

“Why?” Draco feigns curiosity, but Harry is certain that he knows that she’s fishing. Draco doesn’t like to hand things to people, he makes them work for it. He watches Draco force her to work for this, too. 

Hermione shrugs, a glimmer still in her eye even if she’s angling her gaze down at their joined hands. Harry wants to positively beam at her. He can feel her reeling Draco in, Draco’s own resistance as he forces her to give him more, and Hermione’s feint of innocence. And then there’s Harry becoming aroused just watching the volley take place. 

“He’s an auror,” she tells him as if it should have occurred to him without her help. Draco, however, rolls his eyes. He’s not buying it. “Besides, he’s here more often than not, isn’t he?” 

There it is. Harry beams in spite of himself, proud of her for causing Draco to startle. 

“He is.” He doesn’t specify which of her observations he’s confirming. Harry opens his mouth again, but his blood supply is cut off as Draco’s fingers clamp like a vice around his hand. “However, we can’t use Potter in his capacity as an auror personally. Code of ethics for the auror department dictate that Potter is off duty at home.” 

He hears the rest of the sentence as if Draco says it out loud.  _ And in the bedroom.  _

She narrows her eyes just a tiny, infinitesimal bit. He almost laughs at her. Harry watches as the brown and gray clash, a silent battle of wills. He thinks Hermione is giving in when she sighs and tucks her chin. And then Draco is knocked spectacularly from his high ground.

“He’ll just move in as our boyfriend, then.” 

Draco balks. Her grin grows against her cheeks. He tries to recover quickly, but it takes him too long and Harry knows Hermione’s won. 

“Does anyone care what Harry has to say?” Harry ventures, extracting his hand from Draco’s and shaking it to try and get feeling back. 

“No.” They answer in unison. Harry laughs. 

“Hermione.” Harry levels his stare at her and ignores Draco’s nervous hovering at his side. “I already live here. The boys and I, we’ve called this home for several months now.” 

Her lack of reaction confirms what Harry figured out himself. She knows. He wonders what gave it away and how long she’s suspected it. 

“How could you possibly try to hide this from me?” Hermione asks finally. “I’m here five days a week, eight hours or more a day. And the kids, they’re never here with Scorpius.” 

“For the past few weeks, we’ve been waking up early.” Harry smiles sheepishly. “Andromeda’s loved it, mind you. She’s also very worried about my work schedule.” 

  
“She’s not the only one, Potter.” Draco’s words are tightly controlled and he feels the concern warm his ears. 

“It’ll be better now that the Lestrange case is closed. I promise.” Harry lifts Draco’s hand to his lips and places a kiss on the back of it. “And with Hermione living here, I won’t have to duck in and out at all hours of the day. The kids will be happy.” 

“So, it’s settled then. Granger is moving in.” 

“Hermione’s moving in,” she agrees. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All of the extra love to my alpha, Pronunciation_Hermy_One, for helping me through this chapter so that everything that follows is on point <3 If you haven’t, and if you enjoy rare pairs, check out her stories. :) Thanks again for reading along - you all make me smile so much! <3


	18. Gather Your Things

Somehow, Harry and Draco convinced her to allow them to be present when Ron brings the kids back the next day. They’re all sitting in her cramped living room, lined up on her small settee with Hermione scrunched in the middle. She wonders what the Daily Prophet might say if they could see them now. The headlines since the gala are nothing short of scandalous; Hermione and Draco making the front page opened up her post for scathing letters from the wizarding world who admonished her choice in suitor. Similarly, Draco finds himself with a pile of howlers. Harry offers to take Hermione out for a night, somewhere visible, to stave off the paparazzi, throw them onto the wrong trail. 

It’s Draco who refutes it. Tells him its useless. They’ll only get a worse image of Granger if she’s seen out with both of them. It’ll draw their whole relationship into question before they’ve even had a chance to figure it out for themselves. 

Hermione jumps as the floo bursts into flames. A red curly flash of hair steps through and she’s surprised to see not Ron, but Molly. The kids run out of the grate and tackle their mum on the sofa with massive hugs, but Hermione’s eyes are on Molly. She looks tired, worried, harried, stressed. Deep frown lines, dark circles under her eyes. Hermione stands and approaches the older witch cautiously. 

“Molly,” Hermione greets her, forced smile on her face. “I wasn’t expecting you.” 

Molly glances behind Hermione and her lips form a tight line. “I daresay you weren’t, dear.” 

Hermione feels Draco and Harry standing behind her, but shakes off their palpable tension as best as she can. Something is wrong. Very, very wrong. 

“Children, please go and unpack your bags and play while I speak with Nanny Molly, okay?” The kids rush off in fits of explosive energy and Hermione turns back to Molly. “Where is Ronald?” 

“He never came home.” And then Hermione sees something else in Molly’s eyes. A haunted look, a shadow dancing behind the brown irises. “I figured he was working, but Arthur says he wasn’t at the Ministry, either.”

Something claws at Hermione’s throat. Dread. Worry. She’s not sure. “What… what does your clock say, Molly?” 

Tears spring to the older woman’s eyes. “He hasn’t moved from  _ Mortal Peril _ since the war, I’m afraid. None of you have.” 

“Oh, Molly.” Hermione steps forward and wraps the woman in a tight embrace. “I’m sure he’s fine. We had a bit of a fight before he left my flat and I’m sure he’s just off nursing his wounds somewhere. He’ll turn up.” 

She doesn’t even believe her own words. Something feels wrong; he’s never abandoned his children before. But, she doesn’t want to worry Molly more. 

Molly nods into the hug and pats Hermione on the back of the head. “Of course, dear, of course. Boys will be boys, won’t they? It’s just that with the divorce and the article in the Daily Prophet –”

Hermione pushes away gently and tries not to bite her lip. She doesn’t know how to not be awkward about that article. The Weasleys and the Malfoys will never get along, and so knowing that her ex-daughter in law is potentially dating Draco Malfoy can’t be easy on Molly. Hermione swallows around a thick knot in her throat. 

“Oh, hello Harry, Draco.” Molly’s watery eyes find both boys behind her and she greets them kindly. Harry gives Mrs. Weasley a hug. 

“If Ron is still missing, please let me know,” Harry tells her calmly. “I will open a case to find him.”    
  
“I’m sure it’s nothing quite so nefarious, Harry, darling,” Molly tells him with a forced little laugh and gently slaps his cheek as she’d done numerous times with her own children. “You’re such a good lad.”

Harry’s face is red as he backs up and stands next to Hermione. She feels his pinky finger stroke the side of her hand and the dread that’s fighting for attention inside of her is quieted for a moment. 

“James and Albus are with Andromeda now. She’s been kind enough to offer help with all of the grandchildren over this weekend. Teddy is getting big, isn’t he?” 

Molly’s gaze finally lands on Draco after she mentions Teddy and she offers him a distanced sort of smile. There’s something familiar about the look in Molly’s eyes, like she’s unsurprised that Draco is here in Hermione’s flat with her and Harry. 

“Thanks, Molly,” Harry says, breaking the awkward silence. “For watching the kids and for bringing back Hugo and Rose. I’ll pop around Andromeda’s later to grab the boys. Ginny alright?” 

Molly nods. “She is. Starting lineup this weekend, if you can believe it. Youngest on the team in a century. Arthur and I are so proud.” 

Harry smiles and Hermione can tell that he is, too. “Excellent. I’ll try to get the boys to a game this season. They’ll love it.” 

Molly really tries not to cry, Hermione can tell, but it fails spectacularly. She pulls Harry in for another big hug and it takes her several moments to finally pull away. 

“Oh, but you are lovely,” Molly says. She offers all of them one final smile – a hesitating one to Draco, but there’s something in her eyes again as she watches him. Hermione can’t make out if it’s suspicion or understanding. Molly is always a fierce woman who knows too much for her own good. It’s what Hermione loves best about her. “Right. Well, I’m off. Hermione, best not to bring the children by until I know what’s happening with Ronald.” 

  
And then she’s gone. 

“Ron –“ she starts, but Draco holds up his hand. 

“Is a big boy and can handle himself.” He sneaks a glance at Harry, not quite as covert as he believes it is. “Gather what you need, pack up the children’s things. You are moving in today.” 

Hermione scowls, she stands in Draco’s way as he moves toward the floo and she blocks him off with hands on her hips and narrowed eyes. She has to crane her neck to look into his eyes; Merlin, he’s so tall. But still, short as she may be in comparison, she’s not done talking. Harry titters next to them, ready to spring into action, obvious taut nerves from being an auror. Hermione stops the words forming in his mouth with a sharp glare in his direction. 

“No.” Firm, unrelenting, no arguments allowed. Hermione draws herself up to her full height and stares Draco down. The moment of surprise in his eyes passes like a flash as he takes a steadying breath. 

“No?” he murmurs with a slight tilt of his chin. “No, you’re not moving in today? We have already decided –”

“Hermione –” Harry’s hand is on her shoulder, gently trying to turn her to look at him, but she shrugs him off. No, she’ll have none of Harry Potter’s earnest help right now. 

“Ron may be a colossal arse,” she grinds out through her teeth, “but he’s the father of my children and if he’s missing, it’s not okay to leave him that way.” 

“Listen, Granger –”

“No.” Hermione practically stamps all of her weight forward as she leans into him. Her finger is outstretched, almost poking into his chest. “You listen, Draco. I am not going to ignore this. Either we find him or I stay here until he shows up.” 

Draco’s mouth opens, closes, and opens again. He pinches the bridge of his nose, eyes squeezed shut. “He’s dangerous. You can’t sit and wait for him to come hurt you. That’s unacceptable.” 

She’s angry. Her chest rises under the weight of it. Somewhere in her mind, deep, deep down, she appreciates his concern. But in the front of her mind, it’s the kids, the children who love their father so, despite her toxic relationship with him. She stands her ground firmer, takes a full breath and straightens her shoulders. 

“What’s unacceptable, Draco Malfoy, is that you think it’s okay that the father of my children is potentially missing.” He stiffens and she doesn’t back down. She can’t. She won’t. Harry’s hand is tighter on her shoulder now but she refuses to look at him. “I am allowed to care for his well-being.”

“Hermione.” It’s Harry now, quiet and imploring. “Ron probably went off to lick his wounds, that’s all. Molly overreacts.” 

Hermione watches Draco’s hand fall across his chin, his eyes dart to Harry’s. She’s listening to Harry, rolling his words around, trying to calm herself down because who wants to explain to their children that their father is missing? Her hands tremble as she steps forward and places them delicately against Draco’s shirt. 

“I can’t just ignore this.” She bites at the corner of her lip and tries to steady the shakiness even as she feels Draco’s heartbeat under her palm. “He’s hurt me more than anyone, but I can’t stand by and do nothing.”

Harry’s hands are working the knots in her shoulder. Draco’s eyes find his briefly and Hermione doesn’t see the exchange, but doesn’t have to see it to know that Harry agrees with her. Draco’s looking at her again, tenderly, and he plucks her lip out from between her teeth. His thumb lingers on the corner of her lip and then it swipes away the indent she’d left there. 

“Bloody Gryffindors,” he curses under his breath, and then his voice gains strength. “Alright. Gather your things –”

“I’m  _ not – _ ”

He sighs and Harry’s hands tense on her shoulders. “Gather your things and let us move you in. Potter will do his auror thing –  _ safely _ – and we’ll find Weasley.” 

He doesn’t need to say the rest of his sentence for Hermione to know what he is thinking.  _ And curse him to hell. _

Hermione is about to say thank you, but the room is flooded with little red haired children who are jumping and laughing and chasing each other through the scant space between the adults. Said adults pull away from each other quietly and Hermione sits on the sofa and calls both of her hyperactive children to stand in front of her. The energy they put off is palpable and they’re practically vibrating with excitement. 

“Did you two have sugar before coming home?” Hermione laughs as she reaches out for each of their hands. They shake their head and their whole little bodies swivel with the force of it. She hears Harry conceal a laugh behind them. “Did you have fun at Nanny Molly’s house?” 

“Mummy!” Hugo jumps up and down on the spot and reaches into his pocket. When he withdraws his hand, it’s not empty. There’s a small puff of turquoise fuzz sitting on his palm, starting back at Hermione. “Uncle George gave me a pygmy puff for Christmas!” 

The miniature puffskein squeaks and curls up on Hugo’s palm. Rose then extends her hand and shows Hermione the sunshine yellow pygmy puff from her pocket. 

“His name is Merlin,” she tells Hermione very seriously. “He’s the smartest pygmy puff in the entire world.” 

“They’re very cute.” Hermione reaches forward and pats Merlin on the top of his fluffy body. The pygmy puff rolls over onto its back and practically begs for a tummy rub. Hermione snorts. “And Hugo, what did you name yours?” 

Hugo pivots to look back at Harry and Draco and when he looks at Hermione, he’s pink at the ears. Hermione encourages him with a finger to her ear to whisper the name and Hugo bounds through the space between them and whispers very quietly. 

“Draco.” 

She tries so very desperately hard not to laugh, so Hermione claps a hand over her mouth and tells Hugo what a perfect name it is while staring at Draco. Draco who seems to know that whatever the name is, it’s associated with him. 

“I think you should tell him, Hugo, darling,” Hermione encourages her son, who bounces back and gently cuddles the little puff to his chest. Harry sneaks beside the kids and makes a show of petting Merlin and asking Rose questions about his care. 

Hugo walks to Draco and lifts the puff over his head, almost as if he’s presenting it to a kingdom it will rule when he grows big and strong. “Mister Malfoy, this is Draco. Draco, this is Mister Malfoy.” 

Whatever reaction she thinks Draco will have, it’s not what actually comes out of his mouth. 

“Pleasure to meet you, Draco.” He reaches out and shakes the little paw of the pygmy puff and ducks his chin as if greeting a business partner. 

Hermione can’t hold it in anymore. She laughs until she has tears in her eyes. Harry joins her. Then the children. When she finally calms down enough to look at Draco, he’s got the wrinkles of annoyance at the sides of his eyes, but she catches the twitch of his mouth where he’s trying to hold in his own laughter. 

Whatever disagreements they have over Ron, Hermione knows that whatever Draco’s opinions, they come from a place of concern for her. She calls Hugo back over to her and grabs his free hand again and holds it carefully. 

“I have some news for you,” she tells them gently. She can feel the eyes of Harry and Draco watching her intently and it takes all of her willpower to not chew on her lip or turn a startling shade of pink. “We’re going to move into Mister Malfoy’s home. Is that alright with you?”

“Yes!” Hugo cheers and squeezes his little puff so tight that it squeaks. He instantly brings it in for a cuddle and apologizes. “Yes, mummy! Can I pack now? Does Scorpius know? Do I get to spend the night there every night?” 

Hermione laughs and glances to Rose, who smiles at her and nods her head. That’s all the confirmation she needs from her two brave little babies. 

“Yes, darling. I want you to go pack up your things for tonight and Mister Malfoy, Harry, and I will finish all the packing with magic, okay?” 

The kids tear off without any more prompting. They’re ready to go in under ten minutes. All five of them take the floo back to Draco’s house and she takes a moment to look around the place as the kids take off at a run through the house to find Scorpius. 

“They’re going to be disappointed that he’s not here,” Draco chuckles with his hands shoved in his pockets. “I’ll go to Andromeda’s. I’m sure mother has had her fill of the three boys now anyway. That little Potter beast sets her nerves on edge.”

  
“James?” Hermione snorts and Harry rolls his eyes dramatically. “Sorry, Harry.” 

“Actually, it’s Albus.” Draco smirks. “Mother says that he reminds her of her cousin.”

“Sirius?” Hermione’s eyes are round and she glances at Harry, who wears a wry sort of smile on his face and kicks at the ground with his foot. 

“She said ‘mark my words, he will be the first Potter or Weasley sorted into Slytherin’.” Draco’s fondness over his mother’s words aren’t lost on her. She sees how proud he is of his house and while she’s always had a bad taste in her mouth where the cunning snakes are concerned, perhaps they aren’t all bad. 

“Highly doubtful.” Harry finally speaks after what seems like an entire day. Hermione’s relieved to hear his voice, even if it’s miffed at the idea of his son being sorted into Slytherin. “He’s not a very cunning boy. Wicked sense of humor, but lacks finesse in the execution.” 

“Things I’m working on, Potter.” Draco grins at Harry, who rolls his eyes again. 

“Of course you are,” Harry says and then he’s so close to Draco that even Hermione’s breath catches. “Slytherin through and through.” 

“Would you mind taking Hugo and Rose with you?” Hermione tries not to pay too close attention to the way that they stare at each other. The heat between them is tangible, she can practically see their magics radiating from them the closer they get. “I need a few minutes alone with Harry.” 

Draco nods. His hand reaches up and strokes Harry’s jaw before he turns away to gather the children for their trip to Andromeda’s house. 

When they’re finally alone, Harry and Hermione are sitting on the settee. She’s pressed into his side and his arm is slung around her nestling her in closer. Hermione traces her fingers on his shirt and breathes in the spicy scent of him, so familiar and comforting. It takes her several tries to start the conversation that she wants to have and Harry’s trailing fingers along her bare arm isn’t helping her to form her thoughts. 

“You’ll find him, won’t you?” Her voice feels so small, as if it pains her to even think about worrying for him. She hates it, but she can’t stop it. 

  
Harry nods. “I’ll file a missing persons with the office. He’ll turn up, Hermione. He’s fine.” 

There’s a long silence between them that seems to last forever. 

“I think I actually hate him, Harry.” Hermione whispers into the fabric on his side. She hears him breathe in sharply and closes her eyes, waiting for him to tell her all the reasons she shouldn’t. 

“I know.” He drags her in closer still. “I think I do, too. After everything. I tried to find the good in him. I did, but… I can’t anymore.” 

She glances up and he’s looking down at her, a pained frown pulling at his lips. She reaches up and smooths it out, dragging her thumb across the plump bottom lip that pouts out. He smiles against her skin, a strained thing that belies the anger in his eyes. 

“He took away every piece of who I was.” A notch forms between her brows and she draws her lips in between her teeth before popping them back out and sighing. “I couldn’t see it before, not until you kissed me and I felt it. I felt the way that it should be, what we fought for in the war and I –”

“I should have done more. I should have done it sooner. I –”

“We’re not doing this again, Harry.” Hermione’s hand rests on his cheek. “You don’t owe me an apology. It’s not you that manipulated every part of who I was.”

His lips press together in a pale line. 

“I just want to say thank you.” Her brown catches on his bright green and they’re so close that she can feel his warm breath against her face. “I don’t know what I would do without you.”

“And Draco?” He quirks an eyebrow, the corner of his lip rises playfully. 

“I suppose,” she says, exaggerated sigh falling in time with the words. “Though, don’t tell him that or it’s bound to go straight to his head.” 

Harry barks a laugh and the movement brings their faces even closer. Her breath catches and she can feel the way her entire soul pulses under his attention. Draws her closer, heats her to the core. But when their lips touch, Merlin, the way their magic lights a fire under her belly and yanks at the strings that keep her thoughts grounded. He wastes no time placing a finger under her chin and deepens the kiss. She loves the slow, experimental way that his tongue moves against hers. Tentative, almost questioning, or asking permission. She grabs onto his shirt and tugs at it; a plea for him to stop teasing and kiss her senseless. 

He does and she moans into his mouth. “Which bedroom is mine?” 

Harry pulls back, glasses askew and hair falling in every direction over his forehead. Her eyes are heavy lidded, lips open and breathing heavy, cheeks flushed from the way his pupils are blown wide. He grabs her by the elbow, hauls her from the sofa, and leads her through the various hallways of the house until they’re in a bright, white room with sunshine colored curtains and a beautiful, white four poster bed. It screams home, but she hardly has time to dwell on it before his mouth is on hers and he leads her backwards to the edge of the bed. 

“How much time do you think we have?” She reaches for the hem of her jumper and pulls it from her body in one, swift motion. 

“Andromeda is chatty.” Harry grabs at the back of his shirt and tears it over his head. 

She shoves herself back into the middle of the mattress and Harry crawl over her. There’s a lot of fumbling, the clink of his belt, the rip of her cotton underwear. His lips crash onto hers and something explodes inside of her, like sunshine bursting from every nerve and blood vessel in her body. Hermione arches into him as his hand pushes her bra out of the way and palms one of her breasts. When she gasps into his ear, it’s like he can’t hold himself back anymore. Harry’s inside of her and it’s fast and its brash and she’s certain that something inside of her is going to snap with every thrust of his hips. 

She’s so, so close to finding relief to every single moment of build up to this second. 

And then there’s a knock on the door. A steady rap of the knuckles on a solid, wooden door. A pointed clearing of throat. A deep chuckle. 

“You might want to get dressed,” Draco says, voice barely carrying through the door. “There are five children who want to bust down the door to see you.” 

Hermione is stock still beneath Harry, her face engulfed in red. He’s chuckling into her shoulder and she wants to pinch him.    
  
“Andromeda is  _ chatty _ ?” She hisses at him and pushes at him to move. 

He does, dips off of the bed with a painful wince as he tucks himself back into his underwear and pulls up his trousers. His chest is still rumbling when he picks up her jumper and tosses it in her general direction with a cheeky grin on his face. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is deeply personal to me and I truly hope that you enjoyed it. :) We have about 8 more chapters (and a lot of plot) to go!


	19. I’m Finding Myself With Loving Feelings

“I can’t stay, Draco, I’m sorry.” Harry rushes around the house, pulling on various bits of Magical Law Enforcement gear. He’s decked out in a jumper, a cloak, heavy trousers, gloves, a hat – he looks like he’s ready to hit the ski slopes more than he’s headed to work.

Malfoy is scowling from the settee where Hermione is also sitting with her feet tucked under her butt. Hermione brings a saucer of tea to her lips and watches the entire exchange with raptured attention. They’re like an old, married couple and she can’t stop grinning at them.

“Yeah, Potter, I know you have to run off and save the world,” Draco sighs, the snark on his lips is razor sharp. “We’ll miss you terribly.”

Hermione’s shocked to find his hand climbing the length of her leg underneath her slacks. She jumps and nearly spills her tea. But the look Harry gives them, a desperate plea and a groan, causes her face to heat up. She kicks Draco off of her.

“If you think you can keep me home by –”

“Showing you what you’ll miss while you’re gone?” Draco smirks.

“Using nefarious and underhanded tricks –”

“It’s your night, Potter. If you’re not home timely, I will keep her company.”

Harry is staring at them. He’s torn, quite clearly, between going to do his job and staying to be part of their day. And, their day, if Draco is giving any indication, is going to be an interesting one. Until the children wake up, that is.

“I’ll be home before dinner,” Harry promises. He holsters his wand and spins toward the floo with the most despairing of expressions toward them both.

“That’s cruel, Draco,” Hermione laughs and she watches Draco’s lips lift.

“He works too much.” Draco shrugs and then his hand finds her leg again and he rubs small circles on her skin between her shin and her ankle. “I have to fuck with him a little bit or else he’ll think it’s okay to be a workaholic. I’m making him see his priorities.”

“Shouldn’t you be at work today?” She peers at him over the lip of her cup as she sips the strong tea he’d made her that morning. “It’s not the weekend.”

“Would you rather I went to work today?” His eyebrows are high on his head as his fingers climb the angle of her leg. “I can think of a lot of other things that are much more pleasurable to participate in than one of Lucius’ board meetings.”

She laughs when he hits a particularly sensitive patch of skin, just behind her knee. “Come on now, Draco, surely you’re important enough for it to be noticed when you’re missing?”

His lips twitch and it makes his eyes light up. “You overestimate Lucius’ value in me, Granger. Patil can handle my affairs today. She quite likes sitting in the board room and giving the old codgers a piece of her mind.”

A laugh spills from her before she can stop it. Of course Padma is eager to challenge the ubiquitous presence of a million-galleon corporation. She probably drives Lucius Malfoy positively mad. Her respect for the former Ravenclaw continues to grow. Still, she wonders why Draco is alright with leaving such a huge chunk of his career with Padma instead of squaring off with Lucius himself. Perhaps he’s afraid that his father has seen the recent headlines of the Prophet. He’d have some explaining to do; she can’t blame him for wanting to avoid it. She wants to avoid it, too.

She must have been biting her lip while lost in thought, because Draco’s thumb finds the edge of her mouth and plucks it from between her teeth. What Hermione’s learned in the past few days is that she responds to their touches with so much sensitivity that it’s very hard to hide her reactions from them. And, they seem to feed off even the slightest response she gives. It makes her blush easily and pools warmth in her belly — sometimes from only a glance in her direction.

“Is it so bad that I wanted to spend the day with you and the children?” His finger rubs wider circles around the back of her knee, slowly moving higher without appearing to be purposeful.

When she speaks, it’s harsher than she meant. “Of course not. It will be lovely to have you here.”  
  
  


Harry pops back for lunch several hours after the children wake. When he walks into the den, Hermione is sitting on the settee with Rose and reading The Tales of Beedle the Bard, while Draco is on the floor sitting cross-legged with the boys – coloring. Hermione’s eyes meet Harry’s as he leans against the wall and crosses his arms, a warm smile turns his green eyes bright behind his glasses. She feels her heart stutter at the sight of him; she doesn’t remember ever seeing Harry so happy. Even when he’d been smiling in the past, the emotion never rolled off him in waves as it does now.

“I’m going to be home late,” Harry says after several quiet moments watching them.

Draco’s response is deeper silence. He refuses to look at Harry and Hermione can feel the annoyance radiating from him. How different they are – that Harry must work late and Draco refusing to go into work – strikes her suddenly.

“Dad!” James jumps from his spot on the floor next to Draco and runs over to his dad with a colorful piece of paper in his hand. “Lookit! Lookit! I have fangs!”

Hermione stifles her laughter behind the back of her hand as Harry’s brow furrows. He takes the piece of paper from James and scrutinizes the drawing. A smile lifts Harry’s lips and he ruffles James’ hair as his eyes meet hers.

“Are we showing James that being a vampire is a good idea?”

  
Before either of the adults in the room can answer, it’s Hugo that pipes up. He leaps up from Draco’s other side and bounces in place with his own drawing flailing over his mop of ginger curls.

“Vampires suck.” He giggles and it draws a laugh out of all of the adults. “I’m a werewoof – rawwwwr.”

“Why do you have blue hair?” Rose asks her little brother with a scoff. “Werewolves aren’t blue.”

“Teddy has blue hair,” Hugo argues and pokes his tongue out at his sister.

“Teddy isn’t a werewolf.” Harry hands the paper back to James and gestures for him to join the others on the floor to continue coloring. He finally approaches the center of the room and Hermione watches the way that Draco stares determinedly at Albus’ drawing. “Teddy’s father was a werewolf and his mother was a metamorphmagus. That means that she –”

“Auntie Andromeda told me that it means he can make himself have any hair color.” Scorpius glances up at Harry for approval. He beams when he receives a nod. “Blue is his favorite color.”

“Teddy bit me,” Hugo says and then immediately bares his teeth with all of the menace that a young child can. “I’m a werewoof, too!” Hugo proceeds to run around the room, playfully nipping at each of them in turn. “And now you’re all my pack!”

The children all start to make vicious wolf noises and run around the room. Hermione watches as Hugo leads them around, in circles and twists around the furniture, and she laughs as he takes them into the hallway and out of sight. All of their magical pencil crayons litter the floor and are long forgotten in favor of pretending to be werewolves.

“Alright, Potter.” Draco pushes himself from the ground and places himself only a step away from Harry. Hermione cocks her head to the side to watch the interaction. She’s fascinated; there’s a palpable tension seeping into the room now that the children have left it. “What’s it to be this time? Break in at Gringott’s? Kingsley calling another all-night raid?”

Before he answers, Harry’s eyes slide to Hermione’s face. He seems hesitant to say anything in her presence, but she refuses to leave – especially now. She lifts a brow and crosses her arms, clearly telling him she’s going nowhere. He sighs and puts a hand to his face, pulls his glasses from his nose, and wipes them down on his shirt. Such a muggle move, she thinks, because she’d taught him a spell that would keep them from getting smudged so long ago.

“The wards were tripped at the Lestrange townhouse.” He speaks the words so hesitantly that Hermione struggles to hear them. But she caught ‘Lestrange’ and her heart seizes; she instinctively reaches over and scratches at the mark on her arm. Harry sucks in a breath and his eyes finally leave hers to Draco. “Kingsley wants a team assembled to scour the area.”

“You know they didn’t get away with it,” Draco challenges him, an edge to his voice that Hermione can’t quite place.

“Get away with what?”  She asks in the silence that follows. Her eyes bounce between the two of them and when neither answer, she pushes herself from the settee and stands beside. “Harry, what does the Lestrange townhouse have – was anything stolen?”

Harry’s jaw clenches and she watches the muscle tic just below his stubble. He speaks to her gently, but she notices that he’s purposefully evasive. “We don’t know yet. It’s classified –“

“Oh, not with the classified bollocks again!” Hermione sighs. “You can’t –”

Surprisingly, it’s Draco that interrupts her. His hand meets her shoulder and he’s so calm that she’s entirely sure they’re keeping something from her. “I don’t like it either. There’s nothing in the Lestrange townhouse that can be used for good. I’m not happy about it, but we need to let Potter do his job.”

Draco’s narrowed gaze is on Harry, who grimaces and runs a hand up through his chaotic hair. His free hand is in Draco’s and there are apologies in his eyes. She feels Draco’s fingers twitch against her shoulder, but doesn’t pull her eyes from their exchange. There’s such an undercurrent of anxiety between them and she doesn’t like being held in the dark. But a thought occurs to her, one she hadn’t considered.

“Is it Ron?” Her voice is small as her gaze flicks between the two.

Harry shakes his head, his lips pulled tightly into a small frown. “No. We still can’t find him. I checked the pub, the joke shop, all the places he frequents for the Ministry – he’s nowhere to be found. Hell, I even checked the Marauder’s Map to see if maybe he went to see Neville.”

“He can’t just be gone, Harry. Maybe he went to Lestrange’s for… something?” Hermione bites her lip and this time Draco doesn’t pull it from between her teeth. He is stricken, straight, silent. It worries her.

“I don’t think so, Hermione,” Harry assures her. “He might have gone off to Romania or, well, anywhere really. I don’t think he has a reason to break into the Lestrange’s townhouse. He’s not a dark wizard, despite everything.”

Of course; she feels silly even considering that Ron might turn to the dark arts. A sigh of relief leaves her. “Right, well, I suppose Draco and I will make dinner for the children tonight and we’ll see you tomorrow.”

Harry ducks his chin, but he keeps his eyes on Draco from under dark lashes. “I’m sorry, love, I just can’t let this go. Not with… everything.”

Draco nods stiffly. “Just come home to us, Potter.”

Harry’s lips lift. “I like that – home to us.”

There’s something tugging at her heart as Draco leans into Harry and kisses him. She stands between them, watching from just a head shorter than them. Harry’s hand caresses Draco’s jaw while Draco’s hand settles against Harry’s chest. She’s certain that it’s absolutely an inappropriate time to be aroused, but the way that they love one another is so pure that she can hardly stop the way it sends tingles through her body.

The kiss is over quickly and then Harry is staring down at her. He reaches out and wraps a chunk of curls around his finger before pushing it lightly behind her ear. His fingers drag across her jaw, urging her forward toward his face as it lowers to hers. Beside her, Draco stirs and places a hand on her lower back. Her entire body breaks out in prickles as Harry’s lips press against hers. Hermione’s eyes are still closed and her breathing is still shallow when he pulls away and leaves her alone with Draco.

She opens her mouth to speak – to ask about Harry’s work, to ask about their relationship, to ask anything at all because she has so many questions and she hasn’t thought to really ask them everything until now after she’s watched them in such a personal setting – but she doesn’t get the chance because Draco half-turns so that he’s facing her fully and then his lips crash to hers. It’s different than when Harry kissed her moments before; this is rougher, more pressure, with his fingers threading through her frizzy curls as he draws himself chest to chest with her and forces her head to tilt back while he deepens their kiss.

When he pulls away, they are both breathing raggedly and his forehead is pressed against hers.

“Merlin,” he breathes the scent of mint and coffee against her face, “I don’t think I’ll ever tire of you tasting like him and Harry tasting of you.”

The words shoot straight to the apex of her thighs. She lets a shaky gust of air leave her in a short burst and then Hermione launches herself at him. Her arms coil around his neck and she knocks him back with the little bit of weight she has. Draco wraps his arms about her waist and pulls her in even closer. They’re fighting for dominance in the kiss, Hermione taking charge with her tongue forcing his to move against hers and Draco tilting his head so that she must follow his lead. It’s hot and heavy and she’s about to burst open like a dam, until a little voice interrupts the moment.

“Er… dad?”

Everything is in slow motion. Draco lowers Hermione’s feet back to the ground and Hermione unwraps her arms from their vice like grip around his neck. Her legs are jelly as she puts scant space between them. Draco is tense next to her. It’s absolutely silent for several minutes.

“Scorp.”

“ –ius,” Draco whispers next to her, a tight growl.

“Right. Scorpius,” she agrees because she can’t worry about arguing the nickname she’d given to Draco’s son right now. “How long have you been standing there, sweetheart?”

Scorpius’ gaze falls to his feet. His hands are behind his back and his shoulders slump forward as his body twists a little side to side. “Harry kissed my dad.”

Hermione’s eyes dart to Draco, who is undeniably paler than he’d been just after kissing her. His lips are pulled into his mouth and she has the distinct urge to pluck them away like he does to her. She resists.

“Do you want to talk about what you saw?” Hermione asks the little blonde as she takes slow, cautious steps towards him. He doesn’t move, doesn’t flinch, even as she reaches him and squats down in front of him. “You must be a little confused.”

She can feel Draco at her back. He’s so close that she can probably lean back and keep herself steady with his legs. She resists again.

“My dad kissed you.” His little face scrunches up as he tries to make sense out of what he’s seen. “My mom used to kiss my dad.”

  
It tugs at her heartstrings. Cor, it’s become so complicated.

“Scorpius,” Draco finally speaks and then he’s down to their level, balancing on the balls of his feet and arms resting on his thighs. “Adults kiss each other when they are in love.”

“So you love Harry?” Scorpius finally looks up from the floor and stares at his dad with the widest, gray eyes Hermione has ever seen. Draco nods and she admires the complete honesty he gives to his son. “And Miss Hermione?”

Her heart stops. And then it’s pounding in her throat. Love? Surely not so quickly, no. Everything is so still around her and she swears that they can hear the flutter of her heart that must sound like the erratic beat of butterfly wings. Hermione can’t bring herself to look at Draco, but she imagines that he’s rolling his tongue against his cheek the way he always does before he responds to a weighted question.

She doesn’t see his answer, he doesn’t speak his answer, and Scorpius glances at her with a curious expression, his little blonde eyebrows drawing closer together.

“Let’s get lunch.” Draco is standing again and he’s urging Scorpius toward the dining room. As they walk away, he calls to her over his shoulder. “Would you let the others know that lunch will be ready presently?”

Hermione blinks. She should have paid attention to his answer, to Scorpius’ face after, to anything at all. And she wants to know what Draco will talk to Scorpius about while she’s getting the other children, but she knows ultimately, it’s none of her business. Her body is still wobbly as she takes off down the hall to find the others.

  
  
  


The rest of the afternoon is pure mounting tension with every interaction between Draco and Hermione like thread being wound on a spindle. He’s not looking at her when she is paying attention, but she can feel his gaze on her when she’s speaking to the children. Hermione watches Scorpius and he doesn’t appear to have a different attitude towards her – either way, whether Draco affirmed that he does, in fact, love her, or not – and it’s uneasy at best. Her feelings shouldn’t depend on Draco’s, but she’s nervous about how she feels for him. Is it love? Hermione’s not sure. She certainly feels deeply for him and so suddenly that it’s terrifying. But then, the night they made love was certainly that – love.

“Granger.” Draco whispers over her shoulder and she’s pulled from her thoughts. She doesn’t turn to look at him, afraid it will bring their lips too close together. His hand is on her back, well hidden from the children, but she stiffens.

“Hmm?” Is all that she can force out of her mouth.

“Tink informs me that Andromeda is at the floo. Can you attend the children while I speak with her?”

  
She nods because she can do little else. He’s gone from her presence and Hermione glances around the room to the kids and their various activities. Hugo has an action figure that he continuously shoves toward Albus’ stuffed dragon. Rose, James, and Scorpius are engaged in some very quiet chatter in the corner of the room. There’s paper scattered all around them, but none of them are coloring. When Scorpius catches her eye, he blushes and turns back to speak quietly to Rose.

“Granger?”

It’s the second time he’s near her and speaking directly to her since they were caught kissing by Scorpius. It causes her stomach to do a flip. She finally looks at him and that’s when she knows – it’s something far more precious than attraction. Her entire body buzzes when he’s close and Hermione tries to stop the reaction, but it doesn’t work. She might love him, after all.

“Andromeda would like to invite herself to dinner this evening,” he tells her when she doesn’t say anything to acknowledge him.

“Sure,” she says automatically. Perhaps the older witch can reduce the tension in the house. “That sounds lovely.”

He raises an eyebrow and nods his head before turning on his heel. He’s back with Andromeda in no time and chaos explodes in the Malfoy home. Scorpius, James, and Albus all jump from their spots around the room and run for Andromeda with outstretched arms. Certainly, she’s made allies of her nephews, and Hermione can’t help but smile as they all encircle her.

“Teddy!” Hugo raves and flies toward the little boy with turquoise hair. “I’ve been a werewoof all day!”

“Werewolf,” Teddy corrects him, much like Rose had done earlier. But the boy’s toothy grin lights up the room. “Aunt Hermione!”

Teddy runs from Hugo and launches himself around Hermione’s middle. She ruffles the little metamorphmagus’ hair affectionately. “Sweet Teddy, it’s been so long.”

“I read Charlotte’s Web,” he says proudly and then Rose is by his side and she’s staring at him with fixed brown eyes. Teddy’s eyes flash the same color and he smiles at her. “It’s brilliant, just like you said.”

Rose doesn’t let Hermione get a word in. She grabs Teddy by the arm and directs him away. “Charlotte’s Web is my favorite,” she tells him animatedly as they round the corner. Hermione stifles a laugh – she remembers having a very similar conversation when she was younger with a young friend from school about the very same book.

“Hermione.” Andromeda approaches her with wide arms and a huge smile. She’s decorated in a set of floral robes, dark green in color with silver flowers embroidered into the fabric. As she envelopes Hermione in a hug, she’s so much calmer than she’d felt all day. “It’s so lovely to see you, my dear. I hope you don’t mind my interrupting your plans for the evening.”

“Of course not.” Hermione’s cheeks are pressed by a genuine smile as she pulls away from Andromeda. She catches Draco’s eye over Andromeda’s shoulder and he’s watching her so intently that her stomach drops. She tries to push the feeling away. “It’s been far too long. Can I get you something to drink – some tea?”

Andromeda studies her closely, her lips are pinched but quirked up at the corner as if she’s amused by the question. She nods. “Tea would be wonderful. Thank you.”

Draco follows Hermione out of the room and into the kitchen. No doubt Andromeda is being accosted by all of the children and he’s found his opening to get her alone. Hermione pulls a mug down from a cupboard and goes about making Andromeda’s tea. She needs a moment. It’s strange to think that she’s surrounded by so many people and very few of them are Weasleys. It’s new territory for her and is a reminder of how far she’s come.

As she fills the kettle with water, Hermione feels Draco at her back with very little space between them. His lips ghost across the back of her neck.

“Alright, Granger?”

She relaxes when he places a soft kiss to her skin.

“Sometimes,” she answers honestly. Hermione lights the stove with a quick flick of her wand.

He smiles against her. Draco’s hands are on her hips and his long fingers sneak up the inside of her jumper and rest against her skin. She tries to ignore the fire that kindles along her nerves.

“I’m sorry for earlier,” he says quietly, and then he encourages her to spin around to face him. They’re so close together that there’s hardly space for a feather. “I needed that time with Scorpius to make sure he was okay. I should have –”

“Your first obligation is to your son.” She’s firm about it, because she feels the same about her own children. They will always come first. “I just… was curious about your answer, is all.”

His chin tilts to the side and he watches her through sparkling eyes. They’re the gray she loves, so light that they’re almost ice blue. “I have had a lot of time to consider my feelings for you. It should not be shocking to know that I find myself having loving feelings towards you.”

Hermione snorts despite herself and Draco narrows his eyes. His fingers clamp down on her skin. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t laugh. I just… I completely understand.”

She’s rewarded with a rare smile from him. He swoops down and presses his lips to her quickly before the kettle starts to whistle.

“Tell me?” His hands glide from her hip and up to her ribcage and then down again.

The kettle is still whistling behind them but he doesn’t let her turn around. His hold is firm and his eyes spark heat all along her spine. She bites her lip and he makes a face that almost looks painful. But he doesn’t move to free it from her teeth, just watches her carefully and holds his breath.

“I find myself having loving feelings for you,” she says with a cheeky smile.

“Witch.” He rolls his eyes and then captures her lips in another kiss, quick but allows his tongue to press against hers – a promise of what’s to come.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You are all so wonderful. I appreciate every kudo, comment, rec, and sub. Thank you <3


	20. His Strength & His Compassion

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is being split into two because of its ridiculous size. So I figure 2 updates in as many days is a good thing, right?

Tink makes an excellent dinner. Andromeda thanks the little elf and Hermione is reminded why she appreciates the older witch so much. The children are so well behaved that Hermione thinks, perhaps, Andromeda has more sway over them than Hermione had ever realized. Even her own children, who have spent considerably less time with Auntie Andromeda, are behaving like angels. She’s tempted to invite her to stay forever.

The children are swept off by the house elf to play at the insistence of Andromeda. Draco looks like he wants to argue, but Andromeda settles him with a pointed look and exciting the children about being able to show Tink all of the finer points of imagination and the land of pretend. Draco looks wary, but Hermione watches him shove it down at the resolve of the older witch.

“Now that I have you alone – where is Harry?” She asks as an afterthought, as if all through dinner she hadn’t noticed that he was gone or she didn’t want to bring it to the attention of the children. Draco stiffens visibly.

“He had to work late,” Hermione supplies simply. She resists putting a hand over Draco’s when he scowls at a knot in the wooden table.

Andromeda shakes her head. “Just like his father, that boy. I was hopeful that discovering the paramours would help keep him rooted with his family.”

Hermione’s spine straightens. She breathes in sharply through her nose. Her eyes dart to Draco but he’s still staring at the knot on the table. He won’t look at her. Did he know –

“You know about the paramours?” Hermione asks cautiously, the word falling from her lip so carefully that it almost doesn’t make it at all.

“Triads are not foreign to me, dear.” Andromeda laughs, a gentle sound that’s not as patronizing as she’s used to from anyone with Black blood. It sounds free, almost, and Hermione is so pleased that Harry has family that is so light and carefree. “In fact, the wizarding world has had many paramour couplings between a triad – polyamorous and otherwise.”

“Did… are you –” She doesn’t know where to start. Clearly a widow, living alone and raising her daughter’s son, Hermione doesn’t think Andromeda is currently involved in a polyamorous relationship. Or else, perhaps, she doesn’t know the Black witch quite as well as she thinks.

Andromeda smiles at Draco’s bowed head. Hermione follows her gaze and finds Draco fidgeting – he _never_ fidgets. And so her hand lies on top of his and squeezes it. His posture becomes rigid and he’s refusing to look at her again.

“We shouldn’t get into this without Harry here,” is all he says to either of them and then clamps his lips shut. He doesn’t remove his hand from Hermione’s however and it pleases her that despite whatever issue he has, it isn’t with her. Such a change from when Ronald would take his emotions out on her, despite her having very little influence on them outside of their marriage.

“Harry didn’t deem fit to be here.” Andromeda sits back against her chair and crosses her legs. “Besides, the girl has a right to know.”

Hermione peers at Draco out of the corner of her eye and watches him nod rigidly. “I’m sorry – what do I have a right to know?”

“What you’re entering into with these two boys is dangerous.” She doesn’t fluff it up. Her tone isn’t sharp. It’s almost as if the woman is worried about her without allowing her anxiety to bubble over into her tone.

Of course, it immediately puts Hermione on edge. With Draco’s attitude, she’s wondering if he knows, if Harry knows, there’s danger involved in what they’re doing. Hermione swallows around a tight knot in her throat and takes a deep breath.

“What do you mean? They aren’t dangerous, they’re actually quite protective –”

Draco is closer to her now and she’s not sure when he shifted, but his arm is around the back of her chair even as their other hands are tangled together on the table. He’s so still and that makes her nerves rattle harder.

“That’s precisely the problem.” Andromeda clasps her hands together and leans forward. “You see, when I was a much younger woman, I found myself in love with two very handsome young blokes quite like yourself.”

Hermione swallows. She doesn’t correct Andromeda about using the word love. She’s not sure if Draco’s thumb caressing her knuckles is because of that or simply for comfort.

“You were part of a –”

Andromeda smiles. “I was, yes. Ted was the love of my life and Gideon…”

A look of pure contentment crosses her face, but Hermione is filled with dread. Both of those men she knows to be dead. She steals a glance at Draco who is still not looking at her. It’s starting to rile annoyance within her, that he won’t acknowledge these bombshells that Andromeda is dropping.

“Gideon Prewett was like a rock that kept me anchored. I loved them both so completely, and they loved each other just as wholly.” Andromeda blinks and steels her expression. When their eyes meet, there is a warning shining back at her. “In a triad, the magic is bolstered by the influences that each paramour brings to the relationship. Ted brought fairness, Gideon brought passion, and I –” Her hands flatten against her thighs and she rubs them against the material gently before knotting her digits together again. “I suppose I brought determination.”

Hermione doesn’t know what to think. If she considers the triad – actually forming a relationship between all three of them – she’s not sure what she’ll bring to them. She’s but a shell of former self, though she’s growing stronger every day. Draco, he’s like fire. Harry is their glue. But she, Hermione herself? They’d been together long before she was ever part of the picture. She bites her lip and finally removes her hand from Draco’s hold.

He finally looks at her. “Granger?”

“You two don’t need me. I don’t complete you.” Hermione toys with her fingers so that she won’t reach out for Draco. But it’s not Draco who answers her.

“Utter rubbish.”

She doesn’t even think about her actions. Hermione launches herself from the chair and collides with Harry’s hard body. He’s not even out of his work clothes yet, but he’s there and he’s holding onto her and she thinks she can feel his body thrumming with something, but can’t name it. He holds her tight and kisses her cheek. The sharp stubble on his face scratches against her skin but she doesn’t let go or pull back for a second. She’s scared and Harry’s here – he’s here – and it’s everything she could want right now.

“We need you, Hermione,” he whispers, though not low enough for only her to hear. “If you think otherwise, then you haven’t been paying attention.”

Hermione finally pulls back and stares up into those brilliant green eyes. He’s smiling at her, a truly Harry smile that’s crooked at the corner and dimples his cheek.

“You’re brilliant,” he tells her as if it’s something she hears every day. But it means the world to her because for years, she rarely heard anything of the sort. The only bit of importance she had for the longest time was how she could please Ron – rarely anything else.

It makes her feel the slightest bit uncomfortable to hear, but she’s still smiling despite herself.

“You’re far more important than you know.” He smooths her hair while cradling her body to his. “You are my strength, Hermione.”

If there’s one thing she knows, with absolute certainty, it’s that she’s not strong anymore. His words cut her deep. Tears prick her eyes; they see her so differently to how she feels and it’s actually more hurtful than inspiring.

“Hey.” Harry’s hands are on either side of her head and he gently nudges her back so that he can look in her eyes. If he’s surprised to see she’s crying, it doesn’t show on his face. He traces his finger along her cheekbone and banishes the tears. “Think about everything you’ve overcome this year. You’ve endured horrible things, Hermione. You’ve persevered. You’re a fighter.”

Her vision is blurry and her heart is constricting against his words. She certainly doesn’t feel strong, but the way that he puts it, she wants to believe it. There are hands on her hips, slender hands that grip the flesh of her hips tight. Hermione is turned around in Draco’s arms. Harry’s hands move to her hips and Draco’s to her face. She’s forced to stare into his steely, gray eyes. She sniffs.

“I’m a right bastard to know, Granger.” His lips curl at the edges, a sardonic sort of smile that makes her laugh heavily despite everything. “In the year that Potter and I have been together, not once have I offered to show him how to cook or joined him to color with the children, or in fact, offered to upend my entire life to keep him safe.”

Before she can even pull her lip between her teeth, Draco has his thumb there at the corner and he’s staring at it rather than into her eyes. “I haven’t missed a day of work in five years. But I couldn’t go in today and leave you alone when your safety is at risk. You’re more than just Harry’s strength, love. You are my compassion.”

“As lovely as this is,” Andromeda’s voice cuts through the moment like a blunt blade. “We have a lot to get through so that your witch can make an informed decision.”

Draco’s jaw is clenched, the softness in his eyes is gone. Harry’s fingers curl into her body before he lets go and sits down at the table. Draco leads her into the chair between them. They each take one of her hands and hold tight.

“No doubt you’ve read about the more famous triads of the times?” The older witch’s eyes scan Hermione’s face and she feels laid bare in front of her. Red eyes, wet face, emotionally raw. Hermione nods. “You’re the brightest witch of your age, Hermione, so I’m assuming you know how those wizards and witches met their ends?”

They all died horrifically. The sentences she’d read in books flash through her mind. Rowena Ravenclaw died of a broken heart, according to historians, but Hermione now knew that it was to do with the clash between Godric and Salazar after they formed their triad. Their eventual animosity killed her.

Hermione swallows and nods. It isn’t outside of the norm for one or two thirds of the coupling to die. She’s known that since reading the book Draco gifted her.

“Paramour relations attract dangerous power and dark magic,” Andromeda continues. “As far as I’ve been able to glean, one paramour is always left alone and no one has ever been able to figure out why.”

Hermione thinks she sees emotion welling up in Andromeda’s eyes, but it’s quickly blinked away. She wonders how the witch has survived so long without her paramours, but then they’d have laid their lives down for her – Gideon was a member of the Order of the Phoenix during the first war and Ted had fled during the second war in order to give Andromeda and Tonks a chance. Something hitches inside Hermione’s chest.

“The war is over,” Hermione says hesitantly. “I’m not at risk anymore.”

Andromeda’s gaze flick from hers to Draco’s. Her lips are a straight line. It’s Harry that breaks the silence.

“There are still death eaters hell bent on revenge.” The words are so quiet, she has to strain to hear them. “They are searching for dark artifacts. That’s why I had to work late this evening, why I’ll be working late most evenings.”

She watches the way gray eyes meet green. Suddenly, so many things start to click into place and she gasps.

“Lestrange’s townhouse,” she mutters, gaze flitting between the two. “Someone broke in to steal a dark artifact? Because they want to bring back Voldemort?”

Andromeda and Draco both flinch at the name, but Harry and Hermione ignore it. Harry scratches the back of his neck and then pulls his glasses off of his face and places them on the table, probably rougher than he meant.

“We discovered that Bellatrix Lestrange, Rodolphus Lestrange, and Barty Crouch – junior – had formed a triad.”

She balks. “But they’re… they’re not –”

“There’s no indication that triads or their paramours must be light wizards,” Harry says, reading her mind. “In fact, what we’ve found is that there are equally dark triads that have existed through time… all of which have met the same ends as those forged in light.”

“But that’s terrible,” Hermione says, her head swiveling around to everyone in the room. “So who broke into the Lestrange townhouse and what do they want? Is there… are there dark artifacts for triads or – Draco?”

He flinches when her gaze finds him. For a moment, she feels guilty associating him with the darkness of his past, but if she must, she must, and she won’t apologize for it. He ducks his chin and takes her hand.

“It’s what we’re funding at the Department of Mysteries,” he tells her quietly, barely opening his mouth to speak. “We are trying to determine if we can protect you from whatever corrosion happens within a triad. There is an artifact we’ve found that houses the power – it’s extremely complicated.”

Her eyes are hard. She’s not sure she likes where this conversation is going, but she refuses to back down. She will hear the truth today. It’s Harry who continues and her gaze swings his way.

“We thought that the war was over.” He’s weary, exhaustion lacing each of his words. It’s when she notices the purple bruises below his shining eyes. She squeezes his hand and his lips lift just a tiny bit. “When Draco started funding the Paramour research in the DOM, we thought we’d have more time to understand it. But then –”

“Someone broke into Lestrange’s home and stole something?” Hermione supplies, but Harry shakes his head.

“We removed the artifact before they could find it. That they didn’t take anything else from the residence tells us that this… orb… is exactly what they were after.”

“My sister was an evil witch.” Andromeda saves Harry from continuing. The muscle of Hermione’s forearm, just under the wretched Mudblood scar, twitches. “When she discovered my relationship with Gideon and Ted, she went mad. She said that I was destroying the sanctity of centuries of blood purity and that I should be dead rather than sully my soul with a blood traitor and a muggleborn. She had me blasted off the tapestry.”

“Of course.” Hermione whispers as she pulls her hand from Harry’s and covers her lips. “She thought there was more power in a coupling with all purebloods.”

Andromeda tilts her head. “Precisely.”

“But that’s not true.” Harry’s hand is on her jaw and he’s forcing her to face him. His eyes are earnest and sparkling with his sincerity. “The magical influence has nothing to do with blood at all. Your magical core is comprised of the spirit.”

“She was corroded,” Draco says in the thoughtful quiet that follows. “She’d gone mad with the way their magics interacted. Volatile.”

“Who you allow to tap into your magic is essential to your wellbeing.” Andromeda sounds tired, or sad, and when Hermione looks to her she notices that her shoulders are slightly slumped. “Bella chose a combination that literally drove her insane, but my choice – it was the opposite. I had two men, both noble and good. They made me stronger. My magic did things I’ve never witnessed before.”

“What does this orb have to do with everything?” Hermione asks suddenly. Harry steals her hand back and holds it tight. Draco’s fingers squeeze hers. She’s nervous, neither of them seem to want to answer her questions.

“We haven’t had a chance to study it yet,” Harry says slowly, as if choosing his words carefully. “It would seem, however, that the Lestranges and Crouch were using it to harness the influence of their magic.”

“But how could they –”

“We don’t know.” Draco’s voice is low, barely steady. “Granger, we just don’t know enough. That’s why we need to study it. That’s what Harry and I have been doing for months, ever since we learned about triads, with Aunt Andromeda’s help.”

  
“How long have you known about Harry and Draco?” Hermione asks Andromeda, and she receives a shrewd sort of smile from the woman.

“When their magic came together the first time, it created a sort of glow about them.” Andromeda smiles down at her fingers as they toy with the embroidery on her robes. “Harry thought to hide it from me, but if you know what to look for there’s no hiding it.”

“But, didn’t you and Draco, er… couple… the first night you –”

Draco’s lips quirk and his cheeks are tinted pink. “We did.”

“You knew they would be… we would –” Hermione can’t decide who to watch and so her gaze is all over the place as she waits for someone, anyone, to answer her.

“I didn’t know it would be you,” Andromeda tells her gently. Hermione swings around, her eyes narrowing as she faces Draco.

“I –” He takes a deep breath, but it’s Harry who jumps in.

“I didn’t know.” She rips her hands from them and places them on her lap, folded over one another. Harry grimaces and wipes his hands up and down his stubbly face. “I knew that I loved you, Hermione. I’ve loved you for a very long time. It made sense that –”

“Harry.” Something pools in her belly and it isn’t the familiar warmth she’s used to with these two. It feels cold, deceiving. “You and Draco got together almost a year ago. It was, what, three months later that you approached me with the pensieve memories?”

He appears dejected; his head hangs to his chest and his eyes are squeezed shut. When he speaks, it’s through barely opened lips. “Approximately.”

“And Draco mentioned –” she gasps, “you orchestrated this! You – my marriage? Harry, did you push me to leave Ron for this? And, oh, Merlin –”

Everything that’s happened over the past few months flies through her mind like a rolling catalogue of events. She’s not sure what to believe and he’s not forthcoming with details so the worst case scenarios are whipping through her faster than she can keep up.

“Leaving my job,” she mumbles, feeling queasy as it leaves her mouth, “was that planned?”

“You wouldn’t accept the money from me,” he defends himself feebly. “So Draco –”

The blonde next to her exhales sharply through his nose. She whips her glare to him. She’s surprised to see that he appears the opposite of Harry. Instead of dejection, Draco is defensive. His eyes are tight, lips a straight, taut line.

“It wasn’t manipulation, Granger.”

His gray gaze flicks up to her eyes. He dares her to interrupt him, but she doesn’t. She’s silently pleading with him to ease her thoughts. Her entire body is coiling with the anxiety of having no control over her life – had they truly manipulated her into this relationship? She’s torn between anger and despair.

“You were obstinate.” Despite the even tone, his lip twitches into a small smirk. “You would have drowned in debt simply because you don’t want to find yourself caught under someone else’s control. So, Potter and I decided to pay your debt for you.”

“It wasn’t your right!” The words burst from her and her tiny little fists curled and slammed onto the table. “You have encouraged me to dissolve my marriage, you’ve pushed me to leave my job, my house, my entire life, and you’ve coaxed me into this… this _dangerous_ situation because –”

“We love you.”  Long, slender fingers sweep against her jaw and his gray eyes are softer now than she’s ever seen them. What should have been a declaration, however, only makes it hurt more.

  
“No.” She swats at Draco’s hand and pushes away from the table. “You don’t get to tell me that you love me after you’ve spent _months_ manipulating me into something like this. You don’t get to –”

She breathes out deep, a sob, and the tears are falling freely because she just can’t understand why they’d do this to her. Why they’d deconstruct every aspect of her life, for their gain. It fucking hurts in ways she can’t even begin to understand.

Harry stands and he tries to reach for her but she flinches away. The look on his face is filled with sorrow. His lips are pulled down and with his glasses away from his eyes she can see the cloudy green sadness that stares back at her. But no, she’s not going to allow him to make her feel guilty for this; she’s spent too long feeling guilty for her feelings. No more. Draco stands and he’s so close, so she puts distance between them.

“I need to think.” Hermione’s shaky, heart slamming against her sternum as she turns to Andromeda. “Thank you for your honesty, Andromeda. I would be eternally grateful if you could, please, ensure my children are looked after until I collect them this evening.”

The older witch ducks her chin without a word, though the pity in her eyes isn’t lost on Hermione. Without another word, Hermione rushes from the room. She doesn’t leave through the floo, but through the front door. The very second that she’s on the pavement and at a point where she can apparate, she’s gone with the sincere hope that she doesn’t splinch herself in the process.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <3 you are all amazing for your wonderful words and encouragement. <3


	21. No Amount of Amortentia

“Did she just —”

Harry nods and shoves the heels of his hands into his eyes. “Yes. She did. Damn it.”

“Aunt Andr —”

“If you even so much as consider having a go at me for shining a light for that girl, Draco Lucius Malfoy, so help me Circe, I will have your mother here so fast —”

Draco holds his hands up in surrender and frowns weakly. “Wouldn’t dream of it. I was only going to suggest that there may have been a more delicate manner in which —”

"Oh, bollocks, Draco!” Harry roars and slams his hands down on the table. He shoves himself up and leans forward, his head hanging down to his chest. “We’ve royally fucked up! _I’ve_ royally fucked up! Damn it!”

Draco glances at Andromeda who has something of a little sly smirk on her face. She tilts her head as if to tell him to tend to Harry, and so he does. His hand lies flat on the small of Harry’s back, fingers caressing small patterns to ease the tension. The slightest movement has Harry leaning further into Draco’s touch and the raven haired wizard lifts his head. He takes one hand and runs it roughly through his hair. It pokes out everywhere and Draco has every urge to smooth it down again. 

“Potter. This isn’t going to be some quick fix. She has every right to be –”

 “Yes, I’m aware, thank you,” he says through gritted molars. “Surely, my intentions were enough to –”

 “The path to Hell is paved with good intentions.” Andromeda meets Draco’s eye and he’s suddenly overcome with the realization that the Black sisters are more similar than they are different. He’s sure he’s heard his mother say those exact words to Lucius.

 Draco blinks and tries to encourage Harry to stand up and face him. When he maneuvers himself toe to toe with Draco, his eyes are downcast to their feet and a frown tugs at his lips. Everything else – Andromeda, the children, Tink popping in and out of the room – disappears. It’s him and it’s Harry facing down their problems much like they’ve done together for the past year.

 “Dwelling on every wrong choice isn’t going to make it better.” Draco puts a finger under Harry’s chin and tilts his head up to catch his gaze. “What you – _we_ – need to do is be clear about our intentions and explain ourselves.”

“Isn’t that what we’ve just done?” A notch forms between Harry’s dark brows. Draco grabs his hand and toys with his fingers. “Draco, I don’t think she’s going to forgive me for this. How am I any better than Ron? I –”

 “Boys, boys, boys…” Andromeda stands from her seat and while her stature is so much smaller than Draco’s, her voice is mighty and brokers no room for argument. Her hands rest on top of their shoulders and her thumbs dig into the flesh there. “Making presumptions as to how this is going to end will do you no good – _either_ of you. Draco is right, you must explain yourselves but more than that, you need to give her a _choice_.”

 “She _did_ have a choice.” Harry exclaims and Draco finally realizes that he’s not mad; he’s close to tears. He’s never witnessed this from Potter and it makes him uncomfortable. Draco tugs Harry’s hand to his chest and curls their fingers together over his heart. “We might have only presented her with limited options, but –”

 “It doesn’t work that way,” Draco whispers as his fingers slip around Harry’s neck and his thumb strokes the sharp stubble on his jaw. “Aunt Andromeda is right, love. We expected her to fall into this with us because we crafted it that way. Don’t you want to know if she’d choose it if we hadn’t created the circumstances for her?”

 Harry tilts his face into Draco’s hand. “No.”

 Draco smiles. Fucking Boy Wonder and his petulance. He loves him for it, but Salazar Slytherin have mercy on him, Draco’s more like Harry Potter than he’d ever care to admit. “Come on, Potter. That’s not the right answer.”

He groans and rests his forehead on Draco’s shoulder and Andromeda’s hands fall away from them. “Aren’t you worried that she’s not going to choose us?”

 The words are so muffled by Draco’s shirt that he can barely make them out. Draco breathes a laugh through his nose. His Potter is so dramatic at times, but fuck if he doesn’t love him more for it. Highly irritating.

 “Of course.” Draco glances to his aunt over Harry’s head. She’s watching them so closely from her heavy lidded eyes.. It feels like she knows something, but she’s not saying it. Draco drops his gaze from her and forces Harry to look at him again. “But that’s why it has to be her choice. We _aren’t_ Weasley. You’ll let her go if she so desires it.”

 “And you – are you willing to let her go?” Harry’s voice is hoarse and his lips are pulled down and Draco has to stop himself from kissing the sadness away. “You’ve only just discovered how you feel for her.”

Draco licks his lips and ducks his chin. “I’ve become a sort of connoisseur of facing the consequences of my actions, Potter. If she can’t forgive me, then I can’t very well force her into it, can I?”

 “If I might offer a small suggestion?” Andromeda’s voice is filled with the type of tone that says she’s going to offer the suggestion whether they want her to or not. “Ted and Gideon were not overly fond of one another. Gideon’s temper was, well, rather fierce. Ted –”

 She’s got a reminiscent smile on her face. Her gaze drifts off someplace Draco can’t see.

 “Ted was my levelheaded Hufflepuff. A simmering flame who could have been shadowed by the ferocity of Gideon. Everything was a competition. Who could love me more, who could love me better, who could… well.” She snorts a slight laugh and her eyes flick between Harry and Draco. “It was rather off-putting. I found myself being pulled in directions that did not feel natural to me, all for the sake of their egos.”

“This has nothing to do with our egos,” Draco points out shortly. His hands are still caressing small circles against Harry’s jaw and his hand. Harry is still in his arms. “We aren’t competing. If anything, we’re trying to win _her_ over.”

 “But don’t you see, Draco?” Andromeda’s tone is firmer, she’s staring him hard in the eyes. “There is no competition to be had for her heart. If she loves you, if she enters this relationship as your paramour, it will not be the circumstances you’ve built around her. It will be because her soul cannot possibly stand to exist without yours. It – it _burns_ for you.”

 “The soul isn’t swayed by its circumstances,” Draco murmurs as he rests his chin against the top of Harry’s head.

 “Exactly.” Andromeda nods and tilts her head toward Harry. “It doesn’t matter what circumstances you cultivated. Much the same as when Ted and Gideon pulled and pushed to have me closer to either of them, eventually the soul – the _magic_ of us – won out. I thought maybe they’d kill each other in the end, but when they touched for the first time…”

 Her eyes glaze over and Draco feels indecent watching her face heat up at the cheeks.

 “We should allow her to see us love each other.” It’s Harry who finishes Andromeda’s thought. “We saw it the other day when we were on the settee. Remember how it felt with her, when she watched us, when we kissed her?”

 “She needs the choice to join us together,” Draco agrees, his thoughts lingering on the way that Hermione felt beneath his lips, the heat of her touch, the lament he felt when they pulled away from one another. But the way her eyes lingered on them when they’d kissed – it sent flares of heat through Draco’s body. “We’ve been so focused on pulling her to us separately.”

 “The triad always comes first,” Andromeda says with a small smile. “If she chooses to join you, it will be because it’s meant to be and not because you’ve orchestrated the proper environment. But you need her to see how organic your love is for one another, how it makes your magic positively glow, and how she can fit with you.”

 Andromeda pulls Harry away from Draco and he’s immediately bereft without Potter’s warmth.

 “Her choice isn’t about kissing you or falling in love with either of you. You can create the perfect conditions, you can give her Amortentia if you so please, but if she cannot integrate into your lives, if she cannot choose to be part of your relationship, there’s no amount of Amortentia that will make her fit with you.”

 “We need to apologize,” Harry whispers. His eyes are bright again, determined, and Draco can feel the thrum of confidence emanating from him. “I need to tell her I’m sorry. And then we can… what? Snog a little?”

 Draco snorts – can’t help himself. “Eloquent as ever, Boy Wonder. Perhaps we’ll allow her a chance to forgive us. See if it’s even possible? I don’t believe that rushing into anything is what will help. We need her home first.”

 “Home.” Harry nods resolutely. “I’ll put out a missive to the department and try to locate –”

 “Potter.” Draco grips his hand as Harry starts to move away from him with the haste only an auror would have. He yanks him back and Harry falls into his chest. “Allow her time, love. She needs to work out her feelings. If you go chasing after her Full Auror –”

 Harry breathes deep and juts his chin. “Alright, fine. What do you suggest then? Sit here in the comfort of our home and wait for her to show up again? What if she’s out there and something happens to her?”

 “She’s a capable witch, in case you’ve forgotten,” Andromeda pipes in. “I’ll take the children to my home tonight. Teddy will like the company and I think you have enough to work out.”

“I know she’s capable, but with everything happening with the Lestrange –”

 “Lestrange is dead,” Draco reminds Harry.

 “One Lestrange is dead,” Harry argues with hard eyes. “The other has been gone since before the end of the war. We don’t know who broke into the house and –”

 “There is absolutely no indication that whomever broke through Rodolphus’ wards was Rabastan, nor that Hermione is in any danger.”

 Draco watches as Harry’s face flies through various arguments, counterpoints, and possibilities that haven’t been explored yet. Being an auror – and even being The Boy Who Lived and the Chosen One – had created quite the protective, worried auror in Potter. If he’s honest with himself, Draco adores the way that Harry thinks he can keep him safe. On the outside, however, Draco pointedly reminds Harry that he’s not the only person with a wicked wand technique.

 “She’s my best friend, Draco. She’s absolutely in danger of death eaters all of the time.”

 The words hurt, but Draco shoves them away. He doesn’t mean it, of course he doesn’t, but there’s still a raw ache when they sit in his thoughts for a second longer than they’re welcome. He thinks Harry might know because he’s gone silent and his wide, green eyes are on him and waiting for something.

 “The war is over.” Draco shrugs. Deflection, cold indifference; perhaps the war isn’t as over as he likes to pretend it is.

 “I didn’t do enough to protect her before,” Harry continues, despite Draco’s reluctance to talk about it. “Not from the war, not from Ron.”

 “You can’t possibly protect her every second of your life.” Draco’s tone is dry, each word chosen carefully and slowly. “She will, however, become stronger with us. You’ve noticed how her magic has changed. What we need to do is allow her time to think, return to us, and then we’ll grovel at her feet.”

 “The boy finally gets it.” Andromeda pats each of them on the arm. “I shall take my leave, gentlemen. I do hope your witch returns to you tonight. If I see her before you do, I’ll send an owl.”

 Harry and Draco each peck Andromeda on the cheek before she takes off through the house to hunt down all of the children. Draco is constantly amazed at her ability to handle them all, but she’s a formidable witch. He wouldn’t ever cross her path and he’s sure that the children can sense it. Either that or she keeps them plied with pie and promises of sugar should they behave. Harry glances at him and Draco’s lips lift at the corners. There’s still a pang in his chest that’s lingering from his comment about the war and the death eaters, but the way that Harry’s eyes light up when their gazes meet helps to melt that cold feeling away.

 It might never disappear, but his wizard certainly makes it better. After everything he’s been through in his life, that’s all Draco can ask for.

 Draco’s not sure how much time passes between Andromeda and the children leaving and being wrapped up in Harry’s arms on the settee. All he knows is that he’s needed this for ages and it feels so bloody right.

 “I’ve missed you.” Draco pulls Harry’s hand to his lips and places a light kiss against the back of it. “You need a holiday.”

 Harry laughs and tugs Draco even closer. Their lips connect immediately and Harry takes control of the kiss. Draco’s eyes are just beginning to close and Harry’s tongue slips between his lips when the room around them erupts in a brilliant, bright blue. For a moment, Draco wonders if it’s his magic, but then he hears a familiar voice ring through the room.

 “Auror Potter.” The voice was quieter than a whisper and there were loud noises clanking with it, like there was a party in the background.

 Harry pulls away and his eyes dart around the room until it lands on a small, blue turtle in the middle of the room. Harry’s form is stricken and Draco can practically hear his brain whirring with panic.

 “Amadeus.” Harry whispers and crosses the room to the patronus.

 “You asked me to alert you if Ron Weasley ever came to the pub. He’s here – I think he’s been here a while, but he’s wearing a cloak and Merlin, he doesn’t look good, Potter.”

 Amadeus is quiet, but in the background, they can hear _her_ voice.

  _“Your mum is worried sick. Harry has the aurors looking for you. Where were you?”_

Draco and Harry lock eyes. Draco’s heart is slamming in his chest and he feels as pale as Harry looks. They hadn’t heard anything from Weasley since the evening he went missing and now the night that Hermione is alone again, he’s there with her? In a pub, in Surrey, by just pure coincidence? 

Draco swallows. Harry rises to his feet from the place just in front of the blue, translucent turtle.

 A resounding crack fills the room.

 Draco watches the space that Harry disappeared from for only a moment before he steps forward, turns on the spot, and disapparates away. If something happens to her after he’s convinced Harry not to go looking for her, he’ll never forgive himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone! I hope you've enjoyed this installment. Thank you so much for all the comments, kudos, subs, and recs. I'm truly overwhelmed by the response to this fic. I'm making my way through the comments this weekend - please don't think I've forgotten about you. :)


	22. Thick Glittering Gold

There’s a pub in Surrey called Cerberus that she knows well. It’s where she and Harry had their first date. It’s where Draco and Harry first found each other. So, when she walks through the door with red, splotchy cheeks and wet eyes, Hermione feels safe and comfortable despite the raging emotions within her. 

She sits at the bar and grabs a laminated menu with various potion concoctions on it. Things to make you forget, brews to make you happy, blends to lower your inhibitions… she doesn’t need any of these things. They won’t help her process everything she’s learned tonight and she needs a clear head. Perhaps one drink, but mostly she wants the noise of the pub and the blanket of bliss that tends to weave itself through the pub’s patrons. 

Every time the bell over the door chimes, a breeze sweeps through the pub and sends a shiver up her spine. She didn’t consider grabbing a cloak before leaving and so she’s left in the pub with Harry’s old Chudley Cannons tee shirt and a pair of jeans. The cold seeps into her skin and she trembles as the bartender makes his way over to her. 

“Hermione Granger,” he greets her with a genial smile as he tosses an old rag over his shoulder. She vaguely remembers his face, but his name eludes her entirely. “You’ve made quite the ruckus in The Prophet lately. Draco Malfoy, yeah?” 

She grimaces and wipes the last of her tears away from the corner of her eyes. Great. She’s to contend with being a war heroine with a personal life on top of everything else tonight. Hermione chews on her lip. 

“I’d like a whisky, please – no fire.” She reaches into her pocket and pulls out the few galleons she’d brought with her. “However much this can buy me.” 

The bartender’s eyes sparkle. “First round is on the house.”

She has a drink in her hand in under a minute and it’s tossed back in small, quick sips. The warmth of the alcohol does a fine job heating up her cold body and while the sting of it slides through her, Hermione closes her eyes and enjoys the burn. 

“Do you want to talk about what’s got you so sad, love?” 

The bartender is wiping down a spot in front of her. The tendons in his arms stick out against the bulky muscles of his forearms and biceps. Hermione raises her eyes to his face. He’s not a bad looking bloke, really. His dark hair is kept coifed and he’s maintaining a very short beard overtop a sharp jaw. The smile he offers her is pretty, almost gleaming like one might see in the movies. No doubt he is tipped a certain amount simply for being easy to look at. 

She returns his smile with a small thing of her own. “Do you know this is my first time out to a pub on my own?” 

Even as she says the words, she caught in wonder that she’s never really enjoyed a night out on her own, not ever. First it was Ron, or her friends, but then it was Harry and Draco. This is the first time she’s been able to enjoy her own company and that, in itself, is both terrifying and thrilling. She’s such an adult now, though, that she doesn’t think she has it in her to behave like her friends were wont to do when they enjoyed bar crawls. No, those times had passed her by and so as she enjoys her own company, she’s resigned to being thoughtful about how she chooses to engage with the world around her.

If she had a timeturner, perhaps it would be different. She muses for a moment about how much she can change if given half the chance. And then her mind, against all of her better judgment, flies to Harry and to Draco and the way she’d come together with them. Would it have happened if she could change the past? 

If the bartender is surprised that she’s been so sheltered, he doesn’t comment. Instead, he tosses his rag into a bin and slides a second whisky toward her. 

“The divorce rates in post-war Britain are the highest in history, of any country in the world, per capita.” Hermione sips on the amber liquid. She hisses against the numbing burn of it and smiles at the bartender’s dumbfounded expression. “Everyone was so relieved that they didn’t die, we all just jumped into the first relationship that made us feel good.”

“My husband and I married when He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named returned.” Hermione raises her eyebrows at the bartender and he gives her a cheeky grin. “Don’t look like that, love. My wife thought we were mad, too.” 

Whatever she is expecting, this isn’t it. “You… you have a relationship with two people?” 

“Mmm,” he nods and pours himself a glass. The bustle of the pub is like white noise behind them. “Not intentionally, mind you. It just sort of happened one day.” 

Her mood flat lines. Naturally. Unforced. She’s not sure if she can boast the same, so she shrugs and grimaces. “I wouldn’t know anything about that.” 

“Wouldn’t you?” His eyebrows rose. “I saw The Prophet and I thought it was strange, because when you and Auror Potter were here it looked to me as if you went home together.” 

Hermione blushes. “I don’t see how that’s anyone’s business.” 

“Forgive me, Hermione, but it wasn’t exactly subtle what the pair of you were up to. And it’s not as if I haven’t been around Auror Potter and Draco Malfoy prior.” 

Merlin, she thinks with wide eyes, he knows. 

“Your secret is safe with me,” he assures her quietly, leaning toward her. “We’re not very open about our relationship, either. But Cerberus is a safe space. Anything you say to me will stay here, I promise.” 

How much can one trust a man behind a bar that’s keeping the drinks coming? Hermione ponders on it for a few moments while he rushes around to serve the rest of his patrons. He seems genuine, but then most people seem genuine to her these days and, well, her track record is taking quite a beating lately, apparently. Her lips tug down even as they meet the lip of her tumbler of whisky. She doesn’t know what to do about Harry and Draco. Hermione is furious with them, with the situation, but the feelings she has, the way her magic responds to them – it’s real and it’s true. Even if the circumstances are fabricated, she can’t deny how strongly she is pulled toward them. 

What she needs is a sign or someone to talk through it with. And, unfortunately, apart from an oddly in tune barkeep, she has no one. Normally, she’d talk to Harry, or Ginny, but these days everything is upside down. She wishes she had her mum. Merlin, she’d give almost anything. 

“Hermione?” 

Her back straightens. Shoulders are tense. Fingers curl around the cool glass of her drink. The draft inside the pub suddenly seems sub-zero as her stomach churns. Hermione twists around in her seat, just to prove that she hasn’t, in fact, heard her name from those lips, but it’s true. 

A tall frame, topped with a mop of red hair, approaches her. She swivels around so that she’s able to easily duck away if needed, and rests her elbows against the bar behind her. Tense and worried, Hermione narrows her eyes. He pulls off a thick, black hooded cloak and folds it over the back of the chair next to her. 

“Ron.” Her eyes travel the length of him. He’s still wearing the same clothes he was in the last time she saw him. They’re shabby, torn and ripped, and covered in stains. His face is pale, eyes fixed on her in the creepiest of ways – glossy and devoid of emotion. “Ron, where have you been?” 

Ron’s eyes dart over her shoulder and then back to her again. “I was just on my way to the Ministry.” 

“But for the past several days, Ron.” Hermione scrutinizes him. She’s relieved and angry all at once. “You’ve been gone and everyone has been looking for you. We’ve been worried!” 

“I –” He hesitates. He’s so quiet, his lips barely open when he speaks. “I have to go to the Ministry. I have a job to do and –”

“What about children, Ron!” Hermione growls. “Your family, maybe? Your mum is worried sick. Harry has the aurors looking for you. Where were you?” 

“Around.” Ron twists his body to glance behind him and Hermione ducks her head to the side to see what he could possibly be looking at. There are several people in the pub, but nothing that draws her attention. A tall man with long, hair walks out of the door and allows a cold breeze to take his place. 

“Why would you let us worry like this, Ron?” Hermione brings her eyes back to him. 

“I’ve been angry.” It’s so monotonous. He doesn’t sound angry at all. 

“What are you doing here?” Her eyes narrow, a notch forming between her brows. 

“I thought I saw you come in here and I had to see you.” 

“So you’ve just been walking around Surrey?” Hermione steps off her seat and stands close to him. His eyes are blank, his jaw set. There’s something very, very wrong here. “Ron – what happened to you?” 

He lifts his hand and it’s so close to touching her, almost what appears to be a gentle caress, and she flinches away, but his hand doesn’t stop. It’s just shy of her cheek when the bell above the door chimes and a chill rushes through the pub. The noise, the movement, it all stops as two figures walk in and put space between Ron and Hermione. 

“Weasley,” Draco clips as his hand reaches back and pushes Hermione further behind him. 

“Malfoy,” Ron spits through twisted lips. 

“Ron.” Harry’s tone is softer, his hands lifted in front of him as if approaching a hurt animal. “Where have you been, mate? We’ve been looking everywhere for you.” 

“It’s none of your business,” he sneers at Harry, but his eyes glide to Draco and his entire body stiffens. He grabs for his cloak off the back of the chair and pulls it onto his frame. He yanks the hood over his head and the shadow it casts over his face brings out the purple bruises under his eyes. 

“It’s my business when I have resources dedicated to finding you,” Harry argues, but Ron ignores him entirely. 

Draco steps closer to Hermione and presses his arm against hers. “Alright, Granger?” 

Hermione swallows around a dry patch in her throat and nods without looking to him. 

“Ron –” Harry tries again, but Ron cuts him off. 

“I have to go to the Ministry.” Ron makes eye contact with her, but there’s nothing in his blue eyes as he turns around and starts to walk from the pub. 

“Ron!” Hermione shouts at him, but he doesn’t stop. 

  
Even Harry tries to call for him, but gets no response. The bell above the door chimes again and a gust of wind sweeps through the pub. Harry follows him out the door, but he’s back in less than a minute. 

“He’s gone. Apparated.” 

“At least we know he’s safe,” Hermione says, breathless and uneasy. She turns to Draco at her side and finally meets his eyes after what feels like ages. “How did you know where I was.” 

“Sorry, love,” the bartender interrupts with a crooked smile. “I didn’t want any trouble and I know Auror Potter’s been looking for your ex-husband.” 

The soft pads of fingers are on her cheeks and along her jaw and then on her neck and tilting her head left and right. Draco’s eyes are assessing her and refuse to meet her eyes. He appears relieved that she’s alright and then he crushes her to his chest and she actually allows it. Feeling relieved from the sudden confrontation with Ron, she hugs him back. 

“He said he’s going to the Ministry?” Harry asks beside them. He’s using his Auror Potter voice, Hermione realizes as she unwinds herself from Draco’s grasp. “What could he possibly need at the Ministry this late at night? Unless he’s working a late shift, maybe? Arthur said he’d been picking up extra shifts before he disappeared.” 

“He seemed really out of it, Harry. It was strange.” Hermione worries her lip and she actually smiles as Draco frees it from her teeth. “He looks… rough.” 

“I’ll send a note to my commanding officer,” Harry promises and then he turns away from Hermione to speak with the bartender. “Amadeus – thanks for the patronus. You’re a good mate.” 

“Of course, Auror Potter.” Hermione turns to the bartender – Amadeus – and gives him a grateful smile. “Hermione, was nice chatting to you this evening.” 

“Thanks,” she says and she’s drawn away from him by Draco’s hand. He’s gazing down at her and his eyes are filled with worry. The anger she had earlier is still there, but brewing beneath the surface and hidden by other things that take precedence. For instance, the wizard in front of her that looks as if he’s about to crumble. “Draco?”

“We were so fucking idiotic to treat you the way we did.” Draco threads his fingers into her hair and presses his forehead against hers. Bystanders and audience be damned, she allows it. “Please forgive me, Granger.” 

She doesn’t get the chance to answer him. Harry wraps his hand in hers and silently encourages her to follow him out of the pub. Hermione’s not actually sure what she wants to say, anyway. Someone doesn’t just get over deception in a few short hours. But they’re here and at every single turn they’re there to protect her and to pull her away from the darker thoughts that haunt her. She can’t discount it. 

Draco wraps her in his cloak and buttons it from bottom to top. When he gets to the clasp at her neck, he ducks down and steals a chaste kiss. Before she can tell him to bugger off or return the kiss at all, his hand is on top of Harry’s and there’s a sharp pull behind her navel. 

The house is quiet when they appear in the den. Andromeda is gone and there are no hints that children are hiding around the corner. Hermione extricates her hand from Harry’s and places a step of distance between them all. 

“Where are the children?” 

“Andromeda was kind enough to take them for the evening,” Harry answers her quietly. “She left just before Amadeus sent the patronus to say that Ron was at the pub…” 

“I hope she doesn’t feel guilty for how I left. She’s the only person that’s been honest with me.” She doesn’t meant to sound harsh, but the words leave her with a gust of anger anyway. She is still mad and they deserve to hear it. Bollocks to her own guilt. “I hope she gave you both a good scolding.” 

Draco snorts. “She’s been doing little else for months.” 

“It’s because she’s been in a similar situation.” Harry grabs her hand again and places it against his chest. He’s all up in her space, toe-to-toe, and his stricken face is starting to gain color back to it. “I know I messed up. I shouldn’t have –”

Draco’s on her other side, mimicking Harry’s hold on her hand with his own. “It wasn’t just Potter. I didn’t stop it. I encouraged it, even though I didn’t know –”

“Didn’t know what?” Hermione’s voice is soft when her eyes find his. Her fingers curl into their shirts because she thinks she knows what he’s going to say and she doesn’t know if she wants to stop him or make him finish his sentence. 

“I didn’t know that it would be so easy to fall in love with you.” 

She wants to be angry and she just can’t. His eye contact doesn’t waver. Draco pulls her hand from his chest to his mouth and plants a soft kiss right on the pad of her palm. She’s pulled from his gaze when she feels the same sensation on her other hand. Hermione turns at the waist and watches as Harry places her palm against the prickly stubble on his jaw. 

“I –” Hermione is overwhelmed. Her face is flushed, her lips are chapped where she’s been biting on them all day, and her hands are still shaky from the adrenaline of the evening. Her thoughts are everywhere all at once as they both continue to kiss her wrists. Desire floods her as her heart thumps in her chest. “I’m still mad,” she says pathetically. “What you did is wrong.” 

“Very wrong,” Harry agrees even as his free hand grips her hip and pulls her back against him. He moves her hand around the back of his head and Hermione pushes up on her toes so that she can crane her neck to kiss him. 

“Extremely inconsiderate.” Draco is crowding her space as he whispers the words and she thinks, maybe, it’s far too sexy to be considered an apology. 

His body heat rolls off him and she finds herself too fucking hot in his cloak. As if sensing it, he drops her hand and slowly plucks the buttons from their confines. Harry’s tongue brushes against hers and she’s pulled away from the way that Draco’s lips press against her throat. Her hand tightens around Harry’s neck and he makes a sound in the back of his throat as his fingers clench against the skin of her hip. Draco coaxes her hand away from his neck so that he can push the cloak from her body. 

It hits the floor and Draco wastes no time pulling the shirt from her body and tossing it to the ground where his cloak lies crumpled. 

“I don’t know –” Hermione mumbles just as Draco’s lips are within a millimeter of hers. 

He stops and his warm breath dances across her lips. His eyes rise to meet hers and her insides twist in the most glorious way. Harry’s lips are barely on her neck, holding in place. She can feel the wild beat of his heart on her back and heat floods her. They’re waiting for her, for something, but she doesn’t know what. Her body is rife with anticipation and it’s engulfing every common sense thought she has. 

“Tell us, Hermione.” Harry’s lips move and the slight touch against her skin sends sparks of electric shivers down her arms and legs. “We will wait however long you need us to.” 

They’re so close. They’re everywhere. She’s between them and their body heat and she can’t tell whose breath belongs to who. It’s so overwhelming and she’s sure she’s still mad, but hadn’t they apologized? Does she forgive them? Hermione’s eyes close and she takes a steadying breath through her nostrils. 

“I don’t know how to… do this.” When she opens her eyes, Draco’s are shining back at her and they’re crinkled at the corners. Happy, almost. 

“Let us show you.” He’s not kissing her, but his lips are ghosting over hers when he speaks. “And then you can decide.” 

Harry’s fingers curl into her sides and a fire starts at the base of her spine, just under where she can feel his erection pressed against her. Hermione nods at Draco and then his lips finally, in maddening slowness, descend onto hers as he steps into her body and leaves her barely any room to breathe. The noises she makes are feral and Draco swallows them all. 

With evidence of his arousal at her front and Harry’s at her back, Hermione is half a second from being a puddle on the floor. Open mouthed kisses are plastered across her neck, from just below her earlobe to the base of her skull, and to the other ear. Trying to focus on Draco’s tongue and Harry’s kisses is pooling all of her giddy energy into her belly. Her magic is practically sparking out of her skin. Her heart feels as if there are several strings wrapping around it in several directions, growing tighter and tighter the harder Draco kisses her. 

He pulls away and she gasps for breath as if she’s drowning. 

Draco’s shirt is tugged from his body. His trousers drop to the floor. She can hear Harry’s belt buckle clink, the sound of rumpled clothes on the ground and she knows, knows without a doubt that the wizard behind her is just as naked as the one in front of her. Hermione can’t breathe, she’s stuck in her thoughts while her body is still burning from the feel of them both. 

She’s anticipating their lips to attach to her again, but it doesn’t happen. Draco steps toward Harry and right before her eyes, they’re clinging to each other. Draco’s face is cradled in Harry’s hands while he pulls Harry’s body flush against his. Hermione can only watch the way they mold together, the edges of one getting lost in the curves of the other. Draco’s breathing is sharp, while Harry is steady and stepping into Draco further. Someone’s hand reaches out to her, grabs her hand, and places it over the erratically beating heart in Harry’s chest. 

There’s nothing else in the world she can compare it to. It starts at her toes and it climbs through every nerve in her body like a rushing wave of desire. It sweeps through her, it pools within her, and it catapults her worries straight from her brain. One of them makes a noise – she’s sure that it’s Draco – and the kiss turns into a frenzy. Her hand is stuck between them and her fingers curl into Harry’s bare chest. The sound that comes from him, a guttural moan, sends a jolt straight to her core. 

Her place with them is still vague. She doesn’t know where she belongs. But when she watches the way that their lips meet, the subtle power exchange between them – Draco’s head tilts and Harry forces it the other way, and then back again – Hermione’s magic sings inside of her. The palpable force of it pushes her toward them. She can’t get much closer without being on top of them and the thought draws a deep pink flush on her cheeks. 

“Come here.” Harry’s hand reaches out for her and she only just realizes that they’re not kissing any longer. Draco’s lips are attached to Harry’s neck and Harry’s lips are swollen and red and his face is flushed. “Kiss me.”

His lips are warm and wet and taste like Draco. Harry doesn’t waste any time drawing her tongue to his. Her fingers, still curled against his chest, dig in further when she feels Draco place his lips on top of them as he makes his way down Harry’s body. The button of her jeans springs open and Draco pulls them down her legs as he falls to his knees in front of them. It takes her a moment to realize that she’s not wearing pants anymore, either. 

Harry’s hands are curled into her hair, twisting at the roots, and he pulls her head back to deepen their kiss. Something inside of Hermione winds tighter and tighter. It feels on the verge of snapping. There’s a feeling of static dancing across her skin, from the tips of her fingers all the way to the tips of her toes. 

Harry pulls away from her and he breathes out sharply through his mouth, glancing down. Hermione follows his gaze and watches as Draco engulfs his entire length to the back of his throat. Her breathing catches, her vision darkens at the edges, and she’s lightheaded as her magic shoots around the wound springs within her like electricity on a tesla coil. 

“Breathe,” Harry whispers, his lips pressed just below her earlobe. “Isn’t he sexy like this?” 

Hermione watches, mouth opened slightly as she takes in the sight. Her hoarse response barely leaves her throat. “Yes.”

Draco’s eyes are closed and he’s bobbing forward and back while his hands grip Harry’s thighs. Harry removes her hand from his chest and he places on top of Draco’s head. He wraps her hand in his and he shows her the pace he wants set. When she takes over and moves Draco’s head back and forth, Harry’s hand grips her chin and brings her in for another long, deep kiss. 

Every noise he makes into her mouth causes Hermione to clench her thighs together. Any amount of friction she can find to alleviate the ache starting to pulse at her core. Draco’s short, sharp grunts as she slides his mouth along Harry’s erection causes her to moan into the kiss, too, and she’s practically vibrating with the feel of them around her. 

Harry stops Draco by placing a hand over hers and halting her movements. He gently encourages Draco to his feet and that’s when Hermione sees it. The tangible love between the two, like a thread that connects stormy gray and brilliant green eyes. It’s in the look they share, in the sexual tension between them, the very breath that mingles with hers. Merlin, she’s never been so bloody turned on before and she’s about to lose herself in it. 

Hermione doesn’t make her decision; not consciously. She pushes up on her toes and presses her body against Draco’s long, lean frame. His arms wrap around her middle while Harry stands at her back with his arms just above Draco’s. She’s caught between them and their delicious heat and when her lips land on Draco and he tastes of Harry, she’s so fucking done for that whatever was holding her back from being here with them snaps and disappears. 

“Hermione,” Harry breathes her name against the side of her neck and he jerks her hips back against him. “Let him touch you. Let me watch him touch you.” 

She pauses her kiss with Draco and Hermione nods. Draco pulls her leg up and wraps it around his hip. His fingers reach between them and slide through her heat, giving Hermione the friction she so desperately seeks. She rocks against his hand and he groans as he pulls her back to his lips and moves his tongue as fast as his fingers move against her folds. 

“How does it feel, love?” Harry’s rough voice is low and makes her hips jerk into Draco. 

Hermione sighs, a sound of pure pleasure that escapes her as Draco adds a finger to his ministrations. Her back arches. Harry’s hands find her breasts and knead the flesh there in time with Draco’s movements. 

“I could watch you come apart forever.” He nips at her ear. 

She’s so close to shattering. Draco’s head drops to where Harry is offering her breast to him and he laves at the pebbled flesh before his teeth drag over it. His face is pressed closer and she glances down to see Harry’s hand at the back of Draco’s head, encouraging him to move his mouth harder against her breast. It feels as if there are hands and lips everywhere all at once and she’s so, so close. 

“Let’s go to the bedroom,” Harry suggests gruffly. 

Draco practically growls around her nipple but removes his fingers from her and stands straight. Draco’s eyes stare over her shoulder at Harry and there’s a flash of something in his eyes when he takes her hand and walks her toward the bedroom with Harry on their heels. 

She’s on the bed before she can even process what’s happening and Draco’s crawling between her legs. His hands are on the inside of her thighs and he’s pushing them apart with a firm grasp on the meaty parts of her flesh. Harry stands behind him and runs his fingers up Draco’s spine, encouraging him to move forward. 

  
The first swipe of his tongue makes her cry out. Her fingers curl into the sheets at her sides but she can’t move her legs together the way she wants to because Draco’s holding her in place. 

“Look at me, Hermione.” Harry’s tone leaves no room to argue. She meets his gaze and watches as he ducks down to place kisses up Draco’s back from the small of his back to the middle of his shoulder blades. 

Draco feasts on her like a starving man. He won’t allow her legs to clamp around him like her instincts want. He brings her close to the edge, removes his tongue from her and places kisses to her thigh until she’s practically whimpering with need. Harry is smiling as he watches Draco tease her and then he winks and ducks out of sight. 

“Fuck, Potter,” Draco mumbles against her sensitive flesh. Hermione arches her back and snaps her head to the side.

“Relax, Draco,” Harry says, but Hermione barely hears it. Instead she’s focused on the way Draco’s mouth opens around her and the frantic way he’s lapping at her. There’s more pressure than before and it takes Hermione a moment to realize that Harry’s pressing into him. 

  
Her world explodes in a kaleidoscope of colors as Draco’s mouth rocks against her with every one of Harry’s thrusts into Draco. Draco’s moaning against her, a harsh sound that only heightens the feelings inside of her. Hermione struggles against the way that Draco is holding down her thighs, thrashing against the restraint, breathy little noises that sound an awful lot like “please” cascades from her over and over. 

“Draco,” Harry’s strained voice cuts through her noises. Draco’s movements stop suddenly, Harry no longer plowing into him. “She’s ready, Draco.”

“Tell me, Hermione,” Draco whispers huskily. “I can’t do this if you’re not sure.” 

“Yes.” There’s no misinterpreting just how ready she is. “I want this… want both of you.”

“Thank Merlin.” He lets a laugh fall from his lips, a thick noise from the back of his throat. 

She’s sensitive and she’s still unable to catch her breath, but when Hermione opens her eyes she’s stunned. Draco crawls over top of her and behind him, there’s something swirling around them, something beautiful and golden and bright. There are swirls of her yellow magic, of Draco’s blue, and Harry’s magenta, sweeping through the room and mingling together. She’s only given a moment to dwell on what it means, on how her magic feels so far outside of her body and yet wrapped around her every nerve like a vice, and then Draco’s inside of her. 

Hermione arches into him, her hips lifting to take him deeper. She feels him stiffen against her and her hands find his shoulders and dig into the flesh there. Harry’s mop of raven flyaway locks appear somewhere in her vision. He’s sweating, his eyes wide and irises blown wide as he starts to rock into Draco from behind. It drives Draco forward. 

The rhythm is clumsy at first. As Hermione comes down from her sudden orgasm, every thrust of Draco into her pulls a moan from her lips. He’s kissing her and she’s swallowing his noises with every swipe of their tongues. It doesn’t take many strokes for the coil inside of her to wind again. While Harry’s above them whispering words of encouragement and praise, Draco’s movements are becoming more erratic within her. She clutches at the sinew of his shoulders with her fingers. Draco’s forehead falls against her shoulder. 

He tenses. Harry’s movements stop. For a moment, the entire universe is still. It’s peaceful. A golden sheen settles around them and at first, Hermione thinks perhaps something’s clouding her vision. When Harry lies next to her and Draco falls to the other side, she watches as the magic settles around them. What was a slightly golden hue while they were all connected is now thick glittering gold, and so powerful that it creates a hum of energy in and around their bodies. 

“The book never mentioned this,” Harry mumbles into Hermione’s hair as he draws her against his chest. 

“Actually, it did,” Hermione corrects him breathlessly. She reaches a hand out to Draco and he scoots closer to her so that she’s perched perfectly between their bodies. “Yellow, blue, and magenta create gold.”

“Of course you know that,” Draco chuckles and smooths the hair away from her forehead. He drops a kiss there and lets his fingers trail down her cheek to her jaw. “Hermione, I –”

“You’re calling me Hermione now.” She grins at him and she can feel the happiness in her heart like it’s a supernova colliding with a galaxy. Everything is magnified and it’s the most glorious thing she’s ever felt in her life. 

  
It feels right. It feels whole. 

“Am I ‘Harry’ yet?” Harry asks as he rests his chin against the top of Hermione’s head. 

  
“Never, Potter.” Draco’s eyes sparkle as he makes eye contact with Harry. 

Hermione’s certain that she can feel their happiness coursing through her veins. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 22 chapters, 85k, and I have to ask if the slow burn of the triad was worth it, haha. I really hope that you’ve enjoyed it! The response still baffles me - every chapter I worry about before posting has received such an amazing response and I adore you all for leaving your thoughts and kudos. <3 
> 
> Since the last three chapters were supposed to be meshed together (and the characters did not cooperate), we still have 6 chapters to go. I’ll be honest and tell you that the cogs in motion really start to spin after this. All the hints through the story will start to become clearer. :D


	23. Magic is Ironic

He considers himself a selfless person by nature. When asked to lay his life down for the greater good, Harry Potter did not hesitate. When his childhood was ripped from him, he never tried to hide away. His responsibility to keep those he loves safe is tantamount to his own survival. The world isn’t worth living in if those that he loves aren’t in it.

However, as selfless as Harry is, he’s equally selfish.

His arms are wound around a slight frame, chin resting atop her wild, curly hair. And his hands grip Draco’s hip just to make sure he knows he’s there. Convincing himself that this is true, that this is real, that it happened, and he can finally rest with the near-explosive feeling thrumming through his body and along his nerves.

He’s lucky. He has them both. An unlikely match, the three of them, and he brought them all together. An improbable combination of blood and beliefs. Hermione didn’t have to forgive him and he’ll spend his entire life making up for the way he chose to go about things, but is he sorry? He doesn’t think he is.

She stretches against him and he has the decency to blush as her arse brushes against his morning erection. He doesn’t mean to hiss, but it streams from between his lips anyways. Draco’s eyes pop open and there’s a lazy smirk on his face.

“Morning,” Draco says as his eyes leave his and fall to Hermione’s. The smirk transforms into a smile instantly.

Harry watches her hand reach out to Draco and sweep a lock of blonde off his forehead. Draco closes his eyes under her touch and he feels him melt into her. The feel of them, the love they’ve found between one another, breathes life into Harry. He’s not entirely sure how he’d gotten so lucky, but he’s not going to question it. Not after all they’ve done to get here.

“Good morning,” she whispers with a husky voice.

He can’t stop himself from touching her, caressing her curves with his hand, kissing the back of her neck, nuzzling his nose against the mass of curls at the back of her head. Is it possible to smell a color? Harry thinks he can smell the gold of their magic, sweet like her, spicy like Draco, and earthy like him. The scent permeates everything around them, their skin, the sheets, the room itself. Like oxygen to a fire, it stokes the desire he feels for the both of them.

“What’s this?”

Her voice pulls him from getting lost in his emotions and Harry lifts his head up. He follows her finger where she’s pointing at Draco’s chest. That’s definitely new. A gold symbol that Harry’s never seen on Draco’s body before. It doesn’t glow, but it has a sort of ethereal shine to it that confirms to Harry that it’s magical. Three interlocking, golden triangles knotted together over the area his heart resides. It’s beautiful and terrifying all at once.

Andromeda never mentioned a mark. Neither did the book, he’s sure of it.

“Does it hurt?” He asks carefully and pushes himself to a sitting position behind Hermione.

Draco glances down and lifts his hand to touch the mark. His lips part, silver eyes widen marginally. Harry watches his reaction and something twists in his gut. He knows that look, has watched it flit across Draco’s face whenever he makes an observation of something unpleasant. As soon as their eyes meet, Draco’s face is impassive, closed off.

Harry takes a breath through his nose and watches as Draco’s gaze falls to his chest.

“Potter.” Draco points to the same spot on Harry’s chest.

Harry places his hand over the triangles. It doesn’t hurt. There’s a faint warmth to it and it shares the same shine that Draco’s casts. Both of them drop their eyes to Hermione, who twists under the covers and sits up against the headboard.

“I don’t want to look.” She clenches the sheets around her chest and pulls away when Draco tries to yank the cover down. Her brown eyes narrow as her gaze darts between the two of them. “What is it? Did you know you’d be branded?”

“No!” They both promise immediately and Harry’s relieved that Draco hadn’t known either. He continues. “We didn’t know this would… could… happen. Do you know the symbol? Hermione, we need to see if you have it as well.”

She pulls the sheet back so that only she can see whether she has the brand or not and when she glances back up, her eyes are filled with tears. Harry wraps his arms around her immediately and smooths down the wild curls on her head. Draco, however, stares at his mark and traces the angles of the interlocked shapes with the pads of his fingers.

“Do you know what it is?” Harry asks quietly over Hermione’s head.

“I think it’s a Valknut,” Draco murmurs toward the mark. “Hermione, love, I need your brain, if you please.”

Harry tries not to laugh, he really does, but a snort leaves him at any rate. Leave it to Draco, delicate former Slytherin that he is, to ignore the emotional witch between them and stoke the very thing that drives her in order to get her attention. It works and Harry can’t help the chuckle that follows Hermione as she twists around in his grasp and faces Draco.

“That’s not in the book you gave me.”

Her fingers reach out and caress the mark on Draco’s chest. Harry watches as his entire frame shudders under the touch. It stirs something inside of him; something pleasant and whole.

“No.” Draco’s hand rests over hers and they experiment with their touches. Harry’s pretty sure his reaction shouldn’t be a stiffening erection, so he adjusts himself behind Hermione and covers his face with his hands. He peers at them between his fingers. “It appears that quite a number of things were left out of the research done by triads before us. Do you know what this is?”

“You said it’s a Valknut?” Hermione finally pulls her hand away from Draco’s chest and Harry relaxes. “That’s Nordic.”

Draco nods. “Ancient magical symbolism of the Vikings. It’s in some of the books my father keeps in the manor.”

“That’s promising,” Harry whispers as his hands wrap around Hermione’s torso. He scoots up so that his legs are straight on either side of hers. Draco places his legs overtop Harry’s and scoots forward, too. “Three triangles is sort of spot on.”

Hermione laughs. “Magic is ironic, Harry. You should know that by now.”

“Yes, well, a lightning bolt scar and for Boy Wonder isn’t ironic enough, I suppose,” Draco teases with a small curl of his lips directed at Harry. Harry gestures rudely with his hand where Hermione can’t see. Draco’s smile grows. “It _is_ triangles, but it symbolizes more than that. For one, there is a lot of controversy over exactly what it means in all of the texts I’ve come across.”

Hermione wiggles her bottom as if she’s back at school and ready to thrust her hand into the air to answer a question. She’s filled with a sort of eagerness that Harry can feel pulsing through him and down to his very core. He’s never been so sure of someone’s feelings before and he has to wonder if it’s the new mark they all share.

“Professor Binns talked about the Vikings and their place in history at the founding of Hogwarts.”

Both Harry and Draco stare at her like she’s mental. _Of course_ Hermione had paid attention during History of Magic. She looks at them reproachfully as if daring them to interrupt her or question her studious nature. She had received an OWL in History of Magic, after all. Harry clamps his mouth shut and he sees Draco do the same. They share a moment, a quick look, and Harry could melt on the spot from the way Draco’s silver eyes pierce through him.

“The Vikings had ancient magic and followed the laws of the old Norse religion, under a powerful sorcerer named Odin.” She recites it clinically, as if reading straight from the text itself. “This symbol was carved into wands and stones, Professor Binns said. He also said the stones were used when they wanted to keep the boys from accessing the girls’ dorms and that many of the original ghosts that haunt the castle are… oh, _Merlin_.”

Hermione’s hand covers her mouth and she’s pale but there’s a steady throb of excitement coursing from her. Harry wonders if Draco can feel it. He glances at his blonde beau and sees the way Draco’s eyes watch her hungrily, like he’s ready to pounce. His eyes are on Hermione’s lips as she pulls her hand away. He knows Draco wants to pluck her lip from between her teeth, he can feel the desire surging through him.

His own desire is secondary to him. It takes him far too long to realize that he’s turned on by it all; Hermione’s excitement, Draco’s arousal. He feels them before he notices that he’s rock hard and pressed against Hermione’s back.

Inappropriate timing, he tries to tell himself. This is far too big to lose himself to the sensations that are colliding inside of him. Harry bites his own lip and tries to keep from moving against Hermione. It’s not the time, it’s not the time, it’s not the time.

But Draco’s hands are on her thighs and they’re rubbing up and down the fleshy skin. His face is tinted a pale pink color and his eyes. Merlin, his pupils are blown wide.

“Binding magic,” Hermione breathes hoarsely. “Binding magic. Some of the ghosts. They’re bound to Hogwarts by this symbol.”

“Hermione.” Draco’s lips barely move. Harry puts his lips to her shoulder and watches him while planting small kisses against her skin. “Are you saying that we’re bonded?”

“I – I don’t know exactly.” She swivels around and catches Harry’s eyes and he’s caught off guard at the way her black pupils consume the chocolate color of her irises. A breath leaves him sharply and her shoulders tense as goosepimples break out across her skin.

“Did the books in the manor say anything about binding magic?” Harry asks Draco and he has to clear his throat because there’s a knot in it and his voice is coming out rough. 

“I don’t know. I didn’t look much into it.” Draco shrugs. “Binding magic never really affected me, given that I was promised to Astoria when I came of age.”

“Did you have a bonding ceremony?” Hermione asks and shudders as Harry’s hands travel from her hips up her ribcage.

“No.” Draco catches Harry’s eyes again. There’s hunger shining back at him. He’d know that look anywhere. It’s taking all of Draco’s composure not to act on the desire pounding through his veins. “The Greengrasses refused the bonding ceremony due to my… past.”

Hermione’s hands are on his face, cupping his jaw gently. Harry watches the breaths leave Draco in quick succession. He’s holding himself back, he’s being tender with her. But, God, does Harry want him to act on it. He wants to watch them, wants to touch them both. Harry’s hands curl around her ribs just under her breasts and he pauses. Draco notices and his lips fall apart, shoulders fall under a heavy breath.

“We need more information,” Hermione says, in such a Hermione way that Harry can’t stop the laugh that leaves him. “Draco, can your mother procure the books we need? I can owl Minerva and request access to the Hogwarts library, if needed.”

“Let’s keep this between us for now,” Draco recommends breathlessly. “I’ll owl mother from the office later. I think we can agree that this symbol isn’t going anywhere anytime soon.”

“No, I don’t think it is.” Hermione lets the sheet that’s covering her fall slightly so that she can look at the mark on her chest. When her fingers trace the edges of the triangles, her breath stutters. “It’s sensitive.”

“Mine as well,” Harry tells her before the level of her panic can rise any further. “I can feel mine when you touch yours or Draco’s.”

“Same.” Draco is mesmerized, his gaze watching the rise and fall of Hermione’s chest, focused solely on the golden mark on her chest. 

They’re silent for several beats and then Harry can’t take it anymore. There’s too much flowing between them; nerves, desire, excitement. All of the feelings toe a line between arousal and worry and he decides to take advantage of the blurred edges. His hands rise higher on Hermione’s body and cup her breasts. Her nipples stiffen under his fingers. That seems to be all that Draco can take, too. He ducks his head and rolls his tongue over Harry’s fingers and Hermione’s nipples, earning pleasurable sounds from both.

Hermione’s breath catches and Harry isn’t sure why until he peers down at what his hands are doing and catches exactly what _Draco’s_ hands are doing. They left their ministrations on her thighs and instead travel higher to the apex of her thighs. One hand tugs the sheet fully away from her body and the other delves into her folds and runs through the slick heat that’s put on display.

Harry removes a hand from one of her breasts and uses it to tilt her face toward him. His tongue plunges past her lips the second they touch and he groans a long, desperate sound because she’s like coming up for air after drowning. She whines into his mouth and he feels her hips jerk against the insides of his thighs. He places a hand on her hip to steady her, keep her in place as Draco touches every inch of the hot flesh between her legs.

He’s not a dominant person in the bedroom, not really. Generally, Draco takes control and Harry’s happy to allow it. But now, the need to see and touch and hear everything overtakes all of his normal senses. He wants to watch Hermione come apart under Draco’s hands, he wants to see Draco come with her, and he wants them to steal his desire away from him with their combined attention. He wants to fuck them, both of them, and he doesn’t ever want to stop.

Which is a problem, because he’s due into the auror office in less than an hour.

“Hermione,” Harry lets go of her breast and wraps his hands into her hair. The roots tug gently at her scalp and she straightens her back which shoves her nipple further into Draco’s eager mouth. “Get onto your knees, love.”

Draco doesn’t stop touching her between the legs as she struggles to get up onto her knees without knocking either of them off the bed or hitting them someplace they’d rather not be hit. Harry guides her, a hand in her hair and a hand on her hip, until she’s perched in the middle of them on her knees.

“I want you to lean forward and put your pretty mouth on Draco’s cock.” She nods and he lets her hair go as she bends forward. He smiles even though she can’t see, but Draco catches his eye and there’s an intense need radiating back at him. “That’s right, love. Let him know how much you appreciated his mouth on you last night.” 

She’s eager then, hand wrapped around the base of Draco’s erection and lips pulled tight around the rest of him. Draco’s eyes droop closed and he leans back, using one hand to keep himself propped up. The other finds itself wrapped into Hermione’s chaotic curls. She moans as he jerks up, his entire length disappears into her mouth.

Fuck, Harry’s not sure he’s going to last long once he’s sheathed inside of her. Just watching them, feeling the thrum of pleasure coursing through him from their bonded mark is enough to pool intense arousal in his belly. With her arse on display in front of him, Harry puts his hand on the small of her back and encourages her to arch slightly and present the rest of herself to him. It’s amazing to him the way this witch was so unsure of herself the night before and is putting complete trust in him this morning. He really, truly loves her.

The moment he thinks it, a jolt seizes him. It shoots from somewhere in his heart all the way down to his toes and Harry thinks he might get off just on the thought of it. Both of his paramours moan carnal sounds simultaneously. Merlin, this bond is going to drive him mad.

“Are you ready for me, Hermione?” Harry asks her, lips barely moving, voice rough around a dry throat. She hums around Draco’s length and pushes her hips back toward him. “You’re so sexy, love.”

“I think she likes it when you talk to her, Potter.” Draco’s husky voice brings Harry’s gaze to his eyes and he watches the lazy smirk that lifts Draco’s lips. His eyes are still closed, hand still wrapped in Hermione’s hair, but he’s so comfortable there with her lips on his cock. “She takes me deeper when she hears your voice. Oh, fuck me, she takes me deeper when she hears my voice. Sweet Circe, Hermione, love, I’m going to come if your tongue keeps –”

Harry can’t take waiting any longer. Using his hand as a guide, he sheaths himself inside of her and unwittingly pushes her further onto Draco. He groans, Hermione swallows a moan around him, and Harry lets out a stream of curses because she feels so good clenched around him. His hands find her hips and he sets the rhythm, fast, desperate, harder with every single sound that comes from her.

Where the golden magical residue had always waited until they were done, that’s not the case this time. Golden hues spark to life around them and douse the room in its brilliant shine. He feels the mark on his chest pulse and heat, his heart beats rapidly in his chest as the tether that’s always been tied around it since he’d been with Draco constricts. He’s not going to last long and he knows that Hermione’s not there yet.

Reaching around her front, his fingers find her slick heat as it jerks forward and back seeking out release. He moves furiously against her and knows he’s hit the right spot from the breathy moans she’s gasping around Draco. Draco’s jerking up and Harry can feel his control slipping away as his hips take off at high speed, like a man possessed.

“Pull away,” he hears Draco whisper to the witch between them. “Hermione, pull… I’m going to –”

She doesn’t pull away. Draco’s stream of expletives fill the room around them. Harry’s hips snap faster, his touches at the apex of her thighs grow erratic. He can’t keep up, he’s going to lose it, but he wants to feel her clench around him –

Draco tugs her mouth away and hisses through his teeth. He keeps hold of her hair and slowly encourages her to rise. She puts her hands on his biceps and the way that her back arches changes the angle of Harry’s strokes within her. She’s loud. Her punctuated sounds fill the gaps of silence between the slap of their bodies. Hermione is crying out his name, she’s telling him that she’s close, that she’s so close. When he feels her contract, stars burst behind his eyelids and he’s done for.

The room is teeming in glittering gold magic. It settles everywhere. Hermione breaks the silence with a laugh, and the wizards immediately follow. A joyful, carefree laughter rings through the room.

For the first time in his life, Harry Potter doesn’t have a care in the world.

  

 

He begrudgingly heads into work, though he’s almost forty five minutes late. There’s a spring in his step. Even the shambling lifts don’t damper his spirits as he’s tossed around inside of them on the way to the DMLE office. The memory of Hermione hopping into the shower with him still fresh on his mind, Harry strolls through the wooden door that closes off the auror office from the rest of the DMLE and grins at the head dispatcher, Blanche Clearwater. She peers at him over her thick, pink-framed glasses, and greets him with a tight-lipped smile.

“Morning, Blanche.” He tips a finger at her in salute and practically skips to his office.

“Officer Potter, good morning.” Blanche immediately goes back to whatever she was working on when he interrupted her. She has the decency to keep her muttering to a minimum.

The magic that he created with Draco and Hermione this morning still hasn’t left him. It’s a constant beat in his chest. His skin still tingles with the golden hue that currently fills their room. Nothing can destroy his mood. Not today. He’s got everything he’s ever wanted and it can only get better from here.

His hand wraps around the brass knob of his office door. Harry’s reflection in the glass of the mirror gives him pause. Raven chunks of hair stick up at odd angles all over his head and so he cards a hand through it to try and tame any piece of it he can. It doesn’t work. Draco’s constant upset over the state of his hair is well founded, at least. And now he’s coupled with two paramours who have zero control over the state of their hair. It makes him laugh as he twists the knob and pushes his office door open.

Immediate dread fills him. Harry’s green eyes zero in on the safe at the opposite wall. It’s opened and hanging off one hinge. Definitely not how he left it. He feels sick because he can already guess what’s missing out of it. Between the break in at the Lestrange Townhouse and the wards being tripped at the DMLE earlier in the week, Harry knows what they’re after.

His safe is empty as he approaches it. The sphere that was tucked carefully inside on a plush, velvet pillow, is gone.

Dread coats his insides. The ecstasy he’d felt over the past twelve hours is gone. In its place is fear, palpable and cold like ice.

“Officer Potter.” A deep voice breaks through the sound of rushing wind in his ears.

Harry turns on the spot to find the imposing figure of Kingsley Shacklebolt standing in his door frame. Just in front of his bright blue robes is head of his department, Robards.

“Kingsl –” Robards glares at Harry, who instantly corrects himself. “Minister. Commander Robards. There’s been a break in.”

“We’re aware,” Robards barks, mouth twisted into a frown. “I’ve been trying to get in touch with you at your flat for the past six hours, Potter.”

“It’s very strange that we couldn’t find you, Harry,” Kingsley says in a far gentler tone.

“I daresay this looks suspicious,” Robards continues as if Kingsley hadn’t interrupted him. “First, you are adamant that you’re on the Lestrange case –”

“Because I dueled the son of a bitch when I was sixteen, commander!” Harry reminds him frantically. He doesn’t like how the commander’s wand is held aloft, as if he’s expecting Harry to run. Or that he’s expecting to need to subdue Harry at all.

“And then you insist on keeping that dark artifact in _your_ safe.” Robards doesn’t blink at the tone Harry is using. Ignores him completely.

“I told you that I want to hand it over to the Unspeakables when my project is funded –” He’s desperate now, but Kingsley interrupts.

“Your wards weren’t even tripped, Harry.” Kingsley swings the door in and out as if that proves anything at all. It doesn’t. “No one can break through your wards except those who have your magical signature imprinted into their wand.”

“Kingsley!” Harry approaches the minister, but finds a wand in his face. Robards. Harry sighs and puts his hands up between them. Submissive. “You can’t honestly believe that I’d do… whatever it is you’re accusing me of. Come on!”

Kingsley blinks slowly and sighs. “I don’t believe you’re breaking the law, Harry, but you must admit that it looks –”

“Highly peculiar that the once savior of the wizarding world would want to steal an artifact from the ministry’s grasp. An artifact that’s known to store and strengthen dark magic.”

“Commander, we don’t know if that’s what it does,” Harry reminds him emphatically. He wants to take a step forward, but he isn’t about to press his luck.

His insides twist. He can’t think clearly. His bond mark itches and grows hot under his cotton shirt. Harry’s eyes dart from Kingsley to Robards and back again. He doesn’t know what to do, how to convince them.

“Officer Potter,” Robards circles his wand in front of him and two silvery wisps wrap themselves around Harry’s wrists. “We have no choice but to take you in for questioning.”

“Gawain!” Harry pleads as he struggles against the bonds on his wrists. They only grow tighter the more he tries to get loose. “You can’t be serious, Gawain. Kingsley?”

“If you’re truly innocent, Potter, then you’ll be free in no time.”

But how can he possibly prove that he hasn’t broken into his own office when the only people who have access are those with his magical signature imprinted into their wands. There are only two people he trusts with that access.

Draco… and Ron.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Saturday, lovelies! Thank you so much for reading and for the kudos, comments, subs, and recommendations. I appreciate you! Some of you might have already noticed that I've been a bit cheeky and have added a new story today - Fourteen Thousand Galleons Outtakes. There are several scenes that I've had planned for this story that didn't make the cut. Because I love the scenes for one reason or another, I've decided to write them and put them in a separate story collection of drabbles and one shots. If you're interested, I hope you check it out. The first one shot posted is an insight in the early stages of Harry and Draco planning how they're going to get Hermione away from Ron. :) Hope you enjoy!


	24. Bollocks To Your Process

There’s one thing that Draco knows for certain. He’s unequivocally head over heels in love with the savior of the wizarding world and his bushy-haired sidekick. It’s a painful realization, one that has meandered its way into his thoughts gradually over the life of their relationship that started all those months ago. It’s not unwelcome and, in fact, he’s decided that he can’t possibly live without them. As a Malfoy, Draco isn’t used to the idea of dependency on others. And, if his father hears about this, Draco will be unquestionably fucked.

But, it’s really hard to care much at all about the repercussions when he’s buried to the hilt inside of Hermione. The way her pretty pink mouth parts to allow breathy little whimpers to fill the scant space between them, the way her eyes flutter closed and her chin tilts back, the way the heels of her feet burrow against the flesh of his arse and encourage him to move deeper and faster; it drives him absolutely mad.

Of course he’s remiss that Potter had to jog off to work, but he’s also not complaining that the witch beneath him is moaning out his name. She’s so responsive to every slight touch, Draco can’t help but give into the mounting tension in his body earlier than he’d like. He’d stay in bed with her all day just to feel the beats of magic pulsing through him whenever they’re together. Somewhere in central London, Potter’s energy is spiraling out of control from the continuous stream of desire that’s raging between him and Hermione.

“Potter’s probably having a wank in his office after that,” Draco laughs as he rolls off of her and lands gracelessly on his back beside her.

“Must you really be so crass?” The adorable tint of pink on her cheeks draws another smile out of him.

Draco rolls onto his side and props his head up on his elbow. He feels the silk of her skin from hip bone to breast, lazily trailing his fingers along her curves. The dilated brown eyes that stare back at his are still filled with the same need he feels throughout his body and it takes everything in him to not take her again.

He must get to work. Must do the adult thing. Must sit with his father on another board meeting instead of sit beneath his witch while she takes –

Hermione breathes roughly, her breath fanning against the hollow of his throat. The pads of his fingers hold the erratic pulse of her heart just shy of her chin. He swallows because he doesn’t think he can actually hold back, despite his vain attempts to try.

“You don’t like the idea of Potter touching himself?” Draco asks her, voice low and gravelly as her pulse speeds up under his touch. She wets her lips but refuses to drop her eye contact. “He’s very skilled at handling a cock, you know? He has long fingers and he knows how to squeeze just right.”

Her face is positively flaming at his words and he likes it. Warmth pools at his midsection as his hand finally drops from her throat and moves down to the spot where her bum meets her thigh. He hoists her thigh up and over his.

“Draco…” Her hand finds his bicep and her fingers dig into his skin.

“I’m willing to bet that when his eyes close, he thinks about that first night.” Draco positions himself at her entrance and pushes in slowly. He falters for only a moment, a deep breath leaving him slowly. “He must wank to the idea of me fucking you while he fucks me. Does that turn you on, love?”

She doesn’t answer, barely makes a noise, but her lips press firmly into his. The emotion that she pours into the kiss, it’s beyond anything he’s ever felt before. His strokes inside of her are leisurely, so opposite of everything he’s experienced before now. It doesn’t escape his notice that this isn’t fucking, it’s making love, and so he takes extra care to show his affection.

This is something he hadn’t yet done with Harry and it feels special. Sacred, almost. The bond mark on his chest isn’t in flames, but instead sizzles like embers. It’s raw and exquisite.

 He’s a wreck for her.

There’s no real build of pressure, there aren’t crazed cries coming from the witch beside him. Instead his orgasm — and hers — take Draco entirely by surprise. He comes with a long, deep growl in the back of his throat. She swallows the noise and pulls her lips away. He finally looks at her, takes in the widening eyes that stare back at him, and he pushes away a rogue curl that’s fallen across her cheek.

“I love you, Draco.”

The words swoop through him. Three times he’s told her, in varying degrees of desperation, and three times she hasn’t given him the four words he’s wanted to hear since he knew his own feelings.

“Finally,” he breathes and then immediately kisses her lips, her cheek, her jaw, her neck, her shoulder. She laughs a throaty thing that zings through his spine. “Damn it, Hermione, I have to go to work and all I want to do is –”

Her fingers trace the bone of his cheek and down to the corner of his mouth. She presses a light kiss there and smiles up at him through dark eyelashes. “We can’t stay in bed all day. I have to get the children from Andromeda and you need to find the books on Nordic magic.”

“And work,” he croaks begrudgingly, slow to extricate himself from her vicinity. “Mustn’t forget that Padma will have my bollocks in a vice should I leave her to fend off Lucius for too long.”

“Speaking of Lucius.”

Hermione pushes herself into a sitting position and he’s happy to see that she leaves the sheet wrapped around her torso, but doesn’t bother hiding the upper half of her body from his view. It speaks volumes about how far she’s come in such a short amount of time and it strokes his ego that perhaps, even a miniscule amount, he is part of it.

“Has he mentioned the Prophet article about you and I and our torrid affair?” She’s got a teasing smile on her face and sweet Salazar, he wants to kiss it away.

Instead, he shakes his head as he pulls on a fresh pair of pants. “Not a word. He’s biding his time, of course. He’s not the type of man to let this slip by unspoken. I’d imagine my mother has something to do with it as well.”

“Narcissa is fine with this?” Her eyebrows are high on her head. She twists her curly hair into a knot at the base of her head and pulls it over one shoulder.

“Aunt Andromeda has tempered more of her… unsettling… views on the sanctity of blood purity.” He chooses his words carefully and desperately tries not to glance to her forearm. It still makes him sick to see the cursed scar, as nauseated as he is to see his own. “Besides that, you and Potter are directly responsible for my safety during the war. She hasn’t forgotten that.”

“We were?” Her back straightens, shoulders squared. Hermione has the look in her eyes, caught between attentiveness and wonder. “Because of what happened in the Room of Requirement?”

“Mm.” He doesn’t want to talk too much about it, but he can’t just tell her to drop it. Not after the morning they’ve had. So he tries to gently change the topic as he buttons a light blue shirt up to his throat. “I was thinking about our situation, with the solicitor’s bill that you have to pay and your wages with me.”

Draco is spared from looking her in the eyes as he walks to the closet and pulls out a tie. He carefully wraps it around his neck and takes as much time as possible to knot it around his throat.

“And?” She’s moving, likely to put clothes on, but he still doesn’t look any higher than her ankles because he can’t bear to catch her eye.

“And, I think it’s odd to pay you while we’re in a relationship.” He yanks on his suit coat. “I propose something else.”

She doesn’t respond. He can feel her unease in the bond they share and he swallows before continuing.

“Allow me to pay off your solicitor.” He fidgets with his cufflinks and ignores the huff that leaves her mouth. “You’re so close to paying him off anyway, yeah? Between the ten thousand galleon sign on bonus and your wages thus far. Let me bring you peace of mind.”

“What then, Draco?” Her tone puts him on edge; she’s on the edge of anger. He finally looks at her and finds her arms crossed over her chest. She’s wearing Harry’s DMLE shirt and he forces the thought that she’s adorable from his mind. “Are you going to keep me on as your nanny still? Am I a stay at home mom? Am I expected to –”

He holds up a hand and approaches her cautiously. “You can do whatever you want. Stay with the children, get a job somewhere else. I don’t care what you do. But I don’t want this solicitor bill hanging over your head any more than I want an exchange of money between us while we’re… together.”

Hermione’s expression softens. “That doesn’t sound unreasonable.”

“I tend not to be.” He smiles at her and rubs the palms of his hands up and down her arms. “If you want to repay the money one day, if you want to continue to be with the children every day, it’s fine. I just… I don’t want to pay for you to stay with me – us.”

“Can I think about it?” She bites her lip and he feels weak in the knees.

“Of course.” He tucks a chunk of loose curls behind her ear. Whatever is he going to do with the way his lovers’ hair takes on lives of their own? It brings another smile to his face, one of adoration and affection. “I’d expect nothing less of Hermione Granger.”

He turns to leave after placing a soft kiss on her forehead, but her snicker forces him to stop.

“Are you showering before work or are you walking into the office smelling of sleep and sex?” She lifts a brow and he shakes his head.

“Shit.”

 

 

Showered, per Hermione’s suggestion, and with a spring in his step, Draco waltzes into his office perfectly happy with the turns his life has taken recently. If Potter ever asked him about the rampaging magic coursing through him and the effect it’s taking on his overall mood, he’d obviously lie and say nothing was out of the ordinary. Because he likes to keep Potter one step behind him, since Boy Wonder is always one step ahead of everyone else.

“Mister Malfoy!” Padma enters his office without knocking – _again_. All legs and smiles, she approaches his desk and sits on the edge. “I’m so happy that you’ve finally deigned to grace us with your presence. Maintaining such demanding relationships must be so difficult in your work-life balance.”

Draco lifts a brow and watches Padma shift files around in her arms. She flips one open and begins to read.

“Your father decided to purchase a new statue for the Ministry. He also offered employment to Blaise Zabini.” She turns files over and rearranges them again. “Blaise will be heading up a new marketing team for the company. His goal is take the company global.”

“Wonderful,” Draco deadpans and takes the file away from Padma. “Just what the world needs; a Malfoy footprint on every continent. As if our name hasn’t already poisoned half of Europe. And what statue?”

Padma shows him the blueprint for the plans his father drew up. “He says that it’s a donation in good faith, that the Ministry should accept it and his apologies with it.”

“And he truly believes this will earn him a place amongst the Wizengamot again?” Draco laughs derisively and tosses the files aside.

“It does get rid of that horrible statue that Thicknesse had built.” Padma’s plum colored lips thin and she presses a finger to her chin. “Seems a bit over the top, though.”

“The man is nothing if not flamboyant with his wealth.” Draco scribbles a note down on the blueprint – _probably lose the Malfoy crest –_ and sighs. “He gets an O for his effort, I suppose. What else do you have for me today, Patil?”

Just as Padma opens her mouth to spew what’s likely to be her next witty observation of Draco and his disarrayed life, a tall, lanky figure bursts through the door. Theo is breathing heavy, face red, clothes sticking to his body. He runs to Draco’s desk and puts both hands flat upon its surface. There’s a look on his face – worry that wrinkles his brow and tugs his lips down. For Theo, the expression is troublesome; he rarely looks so serious.

“Did you… _run_ here?” Padma asks him as she twists her body around to face him. “Rowena’s Rags, Theodore, you’re a wizard. Use the floo!”

He’s panting and wincing, favoring one side of his body over the other. Draco rolls his eyes. “Shouldn’t you be at the Ministry? Detecting mysteries, or whatever it is they have you doing in the auror department?”

“I – am – a – very good – detective,” he hisses breathlessly. Draco conjures a cup of water and shoves it in Theo’s face. “Potter.”

The hairs on the back of Draco’s neck stand on end. There’s a tightness in his chest, a sudden roil in his stomach.

“Speak faster,” Draco commands him and stands from his desk. “Nott, I’m not fucking around now.”

Theo winces and swallows the entire cup of water in three gulps. He says things that sound like “Potter” – “Custody” – “Interrogation”. The words don’t register with Draco right away. There’s no reason for him to believe that those three words strung together mean anything bad where Potter is concerned, because it’s the life of an auror to have someone in custody and an interrogation.

“What’s going on, Theo?” Draco’s shoulders are tense and he can feel Padma’s eyes darting between him and Theo. “Who does Potter have in custody? My father?”

He doesn’t mean for the words to sound so hopeful, but there’s an honesty in where Draco believes his father should be. The world isn’t a fair place, but then, neither was Malfoy Manor while he was growing up.

Theo’s head shakes as he gains better control over his breathing. The knot in his throat bobs and he brings his dark eyes to Draco’s stare. Draco swallows; Theo doesn’t emote this way, he doesn’t worry, and instead he incites chaos wherever he goes – for _fun_. This is starkly out of character and the longer the charade goes, the more Draco’s stomach churns.

“Robards and Shacklebolt took Potter into custody.” There are almost no pause between the words, Theo strings them together in a rush of breath. “He’s being interrogated now.”

Draco is flooded with dread. The words ‘Potter into custody’ barely register. It’s ridiculous. He’s the savior of the fucking wizarding world. What the hell could he have done to be treated like a criminal especially when dark wizards like his father are conducting shady business deals and buying the Ministry off with expensive works of art?

“Padma, cancel all my appointments for the afternoon.” His words snap through the room like the thrash of a whip. Draco rounds his desk and doesn’t bother acknowledging the way they call after him.

“Draco!” Theo chases after him. His voice is filled with pain. “I am not a sodding runner, Draco, slow the hell down.”

Draco pauses in front of the grate and grabs a fistful of powder. “I’m not leaving him there any longer than he needs to be. What the fuck has he done, Theo?”

He holds a hand over the floo to drop the powder in, but Theo grabs his wrist and pulls his hand away. “The interrogation rooms are unplottable and charmed, Draco, you can’t just burst in there. You’ll never be able to find him.”

A desperate growl leaves Draco as grains of soot fall through his fingers and make a mess on the floor at his feet. Theo places a comforting hand on his shoulder and squeezes.

“I can get you in, but I need you to take a deep breath and act like nothing is amiss.” Theo places his hand under Draco’s and accepts the powder that drops into his hand. “And for Salazar’s sake, no more running.”

Draco’s shoulders rise and fall several times. Potter is sitting in interrogation for fuck knows why and who knows how long he’s been there. All he wants to do is walk into the Ministry and bombarda the doors down until he finds Potter. No statue that his father could donate would possibly make up for the sheer destruction of Draco charging in to save Potter. It takes all of his willpower to allow Theo to guide him into the floo.

“Give me your wand,” Theo whispers as his hand hovers over the grate.

“No,” Draco grumbles in response and tightens his grip on the familiar wood.

“If you start cursing the Minister for Magic and the head of the DMLE –”

With a deep, irritated sigh, he shoves his wand at Theo and scowls as green flames burst around him.

 

 

 

“Before you walk through that door, think about what you’re doing.”

Theo blocks the thick, black door leading into the hidden interrogation room. Draco never even knew this wing of the DMLE existed – and he’d been visiting the Ministry since he was a young boy.

“I know what I’m doing.” Draco reaches for the knob, but Theo knocks his hand away. “It’s injustice, Theo. There’s no reason for Potter to be interrogated. He’s the bloody Chosen One and –“

“You really do love him, don’t you?” Theo’s gaze finds his and Draco sees the wonder there and it only just dawns on him that they’ve never talked about the friendship – much less the relationship – that Draco shares with Potter. He pales and drops his gaze to the ground. “Don’t do that, Draco, don’t. You can’t be ashamed of –”

“Ashamed?” Draco squawks the word, spluttered through his dry lips. “I’m not _ashamed_ of him, Theo. I think we’ve been operating under the delusion that we’ve been rather secretive about our relationship and –”

“Padma and I talk.” Theo cuts him off glibly, as if Draco should have known this all along. Draco raises a brow impatiently. “Your work wife, his work husband. If the two of you are dating for an entire year, we’re going to know about it and compare notes.”

“Fine. Whatever.” Because why does he even care about this anymore. He’s ready for the world to know about Potter and about Hermione and he’s not sorry for it, so it’s probably best that it starts here anyway. “Get out of the way so that I can get to your work husband.”

Theo grins and wraps his hand around the doorknob. When it swings open, three faces turn to look at them. Potter’s eyebrows push his lightning shaped scar into his hairline, Robards’ jaw hangs open and his face turns red, and Kingsley just smiles serenely at them as if he’s expected this all along. Draco steps into the room despite the warning glare on Robards’ face and towers over Potter.

His eyes sweep along the shadowed jaw, the wide and bright green eyes that stare back at him, and then down to his wrists where they’re bound by silver magic that’s sparking along his skin whenever it makes contact. He’s filled with rage on Potter’s behalf and how Boy Wonder can sit there and take this shite treatment is –

“Mister Malfoy!” A burly, gruff voice calls Draco out of his swirling anger and draws his attention to the stocky man wearing thick, green robes. “Nott, are you responsible for a civilian entering the _hidden_ interrogation rooms?”

Theo, Draco notices out the corner of his eye, shrugs.

“You’re holding an auror – _this_ auror – like a common criminal!” Draco answers angrily. He places a hand on Potter’s shoulder and digs his fingers in to keep his emotions in check. Sparks zing up his arm and flirt with the Valknut on his chest. “Why? What could he have possibly done?”

“Gawain, it’s the best way to confirm his alibi.” The Minister’s loud voice booms through the room in the most genial way, drawing every gaze to his face. “Harry, we have to confirm that it’s true, you understand.”

Draco glances down to Potter, who grits his teeth and mutters, “Do what you must, Minister.”

“Draco Malfoy,” Robards pulls his attention again and Draco glares at him with irate, gray eyes. “Where were you between the hours of 9pm and 5am yesterday and today?”

A brow lifts and he feels heat rise to his face. His eyes drift down to find Potter looking up at him, and the question of whether or not they are going to be honest is there in plain sight. Draco glances down to where his hand grip’s Harry’s shoulder and then he takes a deep breath.

“In bed with Potter,” he says finally with such certainty about this decision that there’s no care at all to how Robards or the Minister might react. “And Hermione Granger.”

Potter’s body tenses. Theo’s face snaps to the side and Draco can feel his eyes scanning his face. A small smile lifts the corners of his lips.

“That’s –” Robards splutters.

“The truth, Commander,” Potter confirms through clenched teeth. “If you could please remove the handcuff charm and allow my wrists to heal, we have a _real_ criminal to capture out there. As I’ve said, the only people with access to my office are –”

“Malfoy.” Robards’ glare rests on the increasingly annoyed face of Draco Malfoy. “So it’s you, is it? Think that you’ll take over the family business. Pick up where your Aunt left off?”

Draco reaches into his robes for his wand and then curses under his breath as Theo twirls it around just out of his reach.

“What are you talking about?” Draco demands, eying his wand and calculating how he can possibly get it from Theo without also being stunned before having a chance to use it. Impossible.

“The orb from the Lestrange Townhouse was stolen from my safe last night,” Potter informs him tersely as Robards lifts the charm on his wrists. There are little red burn marks against his skin and rage flares inside of Draco’s chest once again.

“The orb – it’s gone?” Draco murmurs as he watches Harry rub his wrists.

“Stolen, by someone with access to my office.” Harry stands and steps away from the table and next to Draco. “There are only two people with access to my office.”

“Me and Weasley,” Draco breathes, eyes snapping to Potter’s. The room disappears around them and something acidic rolls around in Draco’s stomach. “Weasley – at the pub, Potter. He wasn’t _right_.”

“I just thought he was on the piss,” Potter mutters, his face losing color quickly. “I _knew_ something was off, but he –”

“Was there with Hermione,” Draco finishes as panic begins to rise. His thoughts are flurries inside his head. It feels like cotton is stuffed in his ears as he turns to Theo and all but begs for his wand back. “She’s not safe, Theo. Give it to me – we have to go.”

“Fuck, fuck, fuck.” Potter shuffles around and stands with his hand out to Robards. “Sir, my wand.”

“You are under investigation!” Robards bellows, his face turning an alarming shade of red. “We are not finished here, despite that I’ve released you from your constraints. There is a process—”

“Bollocks to your process,” Draco hisses, snatching his wand from Theo’s outstretched hand. “Bollocks to the DMLE for being fucking useless once again!”

Draco turns to leave, because all he can think about is Hermione alone in their home, with the children, and Weasley having access to his floo because no one thought to block him or keep him from entering the wards. Hermione will let him in for the children, horrible things will happen, and she has no idea what’s going on – hell, none of them do. All they know is that something is terribly wrong and Weasley is at the heart of it and he purposefully approached Hermione when she was alone.

He's terrified, actually, shaking as he rests his back against the wall waiting for Potter to exit the interrogation room. He wants to be sick, but hasn’t eaten breakfast, and there’s bile rising in his throat. He croaks out Potter’s name because it’s taking too long even though it’s barely been a minute.

Theo stands in front of him and levels a gaze at him. “Potter _and_ Granger? One savior of the world wasn’t enough for you, you had to be greedy?”

Draco doesn’t laugh, he can’t, but when he looks up at Theo finally, his mate’s eyes soften. “Oh, damn, mate, you’ve got it that bad?”

“Where the fuck is Potter?” Draco groans and smacks his head back against the stone wall behind him.

“Drac—” Messy black hair rounds the corner, followed by the rest of Potter’s frame. “Come on, we have to go. Ron has the orb, I’m sure of it. And if he was targeting Hermione at Cerberus—”

“What do you need from me?” Theo asks as they turn away.

“Just… tell them if Weasley’s hurt one fucking frizzy hair on her head, I’ll be coming for them after disemboweling him.”

He can hear Theo’s voice reiterating almost word for word as Potter drags him around the corner and out of the interrogation wing of the Ministry. Their hands are locked together, fingers twisted around one another, as they rush through the corridors to the nearest floo. Potter’s hands are shaking, Draco’s legs are jelly, and something sinister pulses at the soul bond mark on his chest. He reaches up and scratches at it, wincing when his fingers make contact, and Potter’s eyes fall on the movement.

They both take off at a sprint.

 

 

There are no lights on in the house, the only light is from filtered sunlight between dark curtains. An eerie sort of darkness encases each room. It’s quiet, too quiet, and there are no children in sight and no Hermione to speak of. It’s possible that she’s with Andromeda; she’s supposed to pick up the children and perhaps Andromeda is particularly chatty today after all of the excitement of the night before. It wouldn’t be the first time one of them has graced Andromeda’s presence and then stayed for pie and tea and ice cream. Especially if his mother is there – the nagging is constant and they won’t let anyone go until their fill of it has been satisfied.

Sometimes it can take hours.

There’s no reason to panic yet.

Except that itchy feeling over his chest. The way it flares up and when he scratches it, it physically hurts to the touch. Potter’s hiss as the pads of his fingers touches his mark confirms that something is very, seriously wrong.

“This isn’t Ron,” Potter insists as his molars grind together. “He’s not – he wouldn’t ever use dark magic, Draco. He’s an arse, but he’s not… _this._ ”

Draco’s not so sure. Weasley has clearly been emotionally abusive to Hermione for years. Situations escalate. It happens all the time. All of the surprises that have come out in the past few weeks – moving out, living with _him_ of all people, the headlines, the fights. Draco knows it can happen, has witnessed it with his own eyes. Ron might have been their best mate at one point when they were children, but there’s no question in Draco’s mind that Weasley has changed from that bumbling idiot he’d once been.

“Potter, you have to be ready to accept—”

“Something is off with him. I’m not saying what he’s done is excusable, but something bigger is wrong here, Draco.” Potter’s wand waves over his head and then a blue stag erupts from the end of his wand. “Where are you, Hermione?”

“A full bodied patronus?” Draco marvels at the beast as it scampers away. “You can produce a corporeal patronus?”

Potter, the humble git, shrugs. “Since third year.”

“Third—” He’s caught short on words because he once thought that Potter was lucky and now he realizes the power that Potter’s always had. Boy Wonder, indeed. “Let’s make sure Granger’s okay and then you’re going to spill all the ways you’ve been holding back with me.”

A pink tint flashes on Potter’s cheek and Draco smirks at him. It’s only a moment, a solitary second, that his heart feels light. It’s the beat that he needs to clear his head.

“She’s not responding,” Potter mutters after a moment. “Draco, I – this bond mark stings. It—”

Potter collapses to his knees.

Draco follows, clutching his chest. If he couldn’t see it, he’d believe that someone is cleaving it away from his flesh with a blunt knife. They’re losing time. Weasley has her.

“Where – where would she be, Potter?” Every word out of his mouth is laced with agony as his heart thuds against his sternum.

“I don’t…” Potter draws in a breath through his teeth.

“Think!”

“Cerberus?” A pained sound rips its way from Potter’s throat. “The Burrow? The shop in Diagon Alley?”

No, no, no. Draco shakes his head and forces himself to stand and go to Potter’s side. They don’t have time for this. It feels like she’s being torn away from him.

Everything Aunt Andromeda has warned them about rushes through his thoughts. Triads, their paramours, the survival rate, the mortality of one out of three.

Draco thinks about losing Hermione and he thinks about losing Harry.

He thinks about being the last one left.

The bile finally leaves his esophagus and splatters to the ground at their feet.

“Lestrange’s Townhouse,” he whispers as he wipes the acidic liquid from his lips. “It’s the only thing that makes sense.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for the patience with this chapter. I ran into some RL stuff that threw me off my writing schedule and I had four (eep) fest pieces due last week so I had to concentrate on those. RL stuff should be settled down now, so we're looking at regularly scheduled updates again from now on. :) 
> 
> If you're interested, there were some amazing fests revealed this week- Harmony & Co's Shag-a-Thon (My story: The Order and The Crown), Strictly Dramione's Valentine's Day Smut Fest (My story: Juror Six), Draco's Den Secret Admirer Fic Exchange (My story: The Worst Decision), and Dramione Fanfiction Writer's TriWizard Tournament (my story, co-written with the aaaaah-mazing MykEsprit: The Feast of Valentine). I am making my way through reading all the entries into these fests and so far have not been disappointed in the quality stories! If you have time or you're looking for something to read, give these wonderful authors some time and love. :) 
> 
> Til next time <3


	25. Unforgivable Curses

Coming back to consciousness is slow and painful. The first thing she’s aware of is the darkness that surrounds her whether her eyes are open or not. Next, it’s the splitting headache that seems as if her skull is being cleaved in two. Then, she’s painfully aware of quaking nerves throughout her body. The stench of mildew. The slow drip of water and its gentle splash to the ground. Her feet are bare against a cold surface – cement, probably – and her wrists are bound behind her back with something magical that stings every time she tries to pull her hands apart. 

With her chin to her chest, Hermione takes deep breaths through her mouth. There’s a faint taste of rust on her lips and the tang of still-wet blood where her lip splits in two. Her shoulders ache where they’re pulled back behind the metal chair she’s stuck in. The Valknut over her heart throbs painfully as if being stabbed. 

If there’s anyone in the room with her, they are utterly quiet. No breathing, no shuffling feet, no movement at all. 

  
She’s alone, bleeding, restrained, and terrified. 

As her eyes adjust to the darkness, the room around her becomes clearer. She still can’t see far ahead of her, but as her pounding head lifts from her chest, Hermione can make out a four by four room and what appears to be a set of stairs leading to another floor. She’s in a cellar, she’s sure of it. But where? 

Hermione sniffs at the air and gags on the overpowering, moldy stench. It’s stale and musty with a faint hint of sweat and dirt. It’s an unused room or a room that’s so aged that it’s been forgotten for a very long time. There are metal shelves across from her and blurry trinkets of various sizes set atop them. Nothing denoting magic that she can tell, but then if this place is abandoned, it’s possible that all of the magic has been drained from this place. 

The last thing she remembers – now that’s even harder to recollect. 

Draco, freshly showered, stole a kiss from her before leaving for work. Hermione followed suit, cleaned up from a night with her partners, the excitement of a new sort of relationship still thrumming through her, and prepared to collect the children from Andromeda’s home. 

She hadn’t made it into the floo. 

A shock of red hair stepped out as she made to step in. His eyes were blank. His wand wrapped tightly in his hand. She was stunned so quickly that she couldn’t even grab her wand. When she came to, she was here. Covered in blood and dirt. She assumes she’s been dragged, perhaps even apparated and dropped to the ground. Her body aches, muscles sore, joints stiff. 

“You’re awake.” 

That voice.  _ His _ voice. 

No longer loving. No longer gentle. 

Hermione shakes when she hears it. Her mouth goes dry and her tongue sticks to its roof as she tries to say something – anything – to him. Why? How? Haven’t you done enough?

“I was afraid you weren’t going to wake up.” 

She blinks, trying to make out the finer details of his tall, broad frame. He’s wearing a black cloak from the hollow of his throat to the tips of his boots. He’s covered in dirt and blood, streaks of it on every uncovered piece of freckled flesh that she can see. It’s like he’s rolled around in it, caked himself in it as if it were camouflage. 

“I’m so happy that you’re awake.” 

“Why?” She finally croaks a word and coughs against the raw scratching in her throat. 

“You hurt me,” he whispers monotonously and approaches her with slow, steady steps. His body towers over hers and she has to crane her sore neck to make eye contact. 

The scent of dark magic permeates the space around him and licks at the bond mark on her chest. It fights against it, a tug inward toward her heart, as if a warning for her to run away. She can’t, she’s stuck, and she’s entirely at the mercy of the angry wizard standing over her. 

“Ronald,” she whispers, ignoring the way his name rips at the inflamed tissue in her throat. “Have you been cursed?” 

Ron’s wand hand rises, the tip of wood angled down toward her chest. He utters the word, but as thunder rushes through her ears, Hermione doesn’t hear it. Merlin, does she feel it, though, as her nerves light on fire and quake under his spell. Her muscles rip apart and stitch themselves back together over and over again. Her body is limp as it convulses. She drools blood out the side of her mouth. 

When she comes to again, a scream fills her ears and it takes her far too long to realize that it’s her own shouting that roused her from unconsciousness. 

She’s crying now. Salty tears streaming down her cheeks and burning the place on her lip where it’s split. If he cares, he doesn’t show it. His wand pokes into the flesh on her shoulder and he twists the wood into the bone. A curse rocks her body and she loses consciousness once again. 

A hand caresses her jaw. 

  
Hermione seeks out the warmth of it, rubs her cheek against the soft pad of its palm and allows herself to settle into it. But then it’s tensed around her, jagged nails snagging against her skin. Crescent moons scarred into her cheek. Her jaw opens under the pressure of his vice-like hold. For a moment, she’s terrified he’s going to shove a potion down her throat. Instead, he shoves her face back and takes a step away from her. 

From the pocket of his robes, he withdraws a small, black orb. There’s a slight golden glow, shimmering and swirling within it. It reminds her of magic, of what settled around her as she, Harry, and Draco—

She tries to open her mouth to ask him what it is, but the words stick to the slick blood in her mouth. Hermione spits on the ground and pants against the heavy pressure in her chest. As she winces, the golden magic swirls in the sphere. It glows bright for a moment and then dulls again. 

“What – are you – doing?” The words are slurred, she can’t see straight anymore. Her body shakes and twitches and she’s sure she’s going to die here by his hand. “Ron – please—“ 

“You fucking  _ left _ me!” His voice tears through the room and bounces off the cement walls. Her ears ring under the volume of it. 

Hermione lifts her chin. “You made it easy.”

His eyes widen. His wand lifts again. 

“Ron!” His name pours like a plea from her lips. “Ron, please – please, stop. You don’t want to do this.” 

“I want to do this.” The words are plain. Dull. His eyes blink slowly and his lips twist. “I have to do this.” 

“Ron!” Hermione twists, barely able to struggle against the binds. The only strength she has is the pulsing magic at her chest. It’s reaching out to the orb that Ron holds in his hand. She reaches back, tries to force her magic to it, envisions that it provides her energy. 

“Think of the children, Ron. Rosie and Hugo—” 

He strikes down with his wand hand, knuckles crunching against her face. Her head snaps to the side and she sobs as blood runs out of her mouth and nose. When she lifts her head again, she has to beg, has to try whatever she can, he’s staring down at her blankly. 

“Hugo, he looks up to you  _ so much _ , Ron.” She’s crying and can’t stop the flood as it pours out of her. “And Rosie – your little girl, Ron. She loves you more than anything!” 

Something registers in his eyes. The dull blue shifts and she can see Ron gazing back at her for a split second before he’s gone again. That’s when she knows beyond a reasonable doubt – he’s been Imperioused. 

“Crucio!” 

  
It hits her again, square in the chest. She slumps forward in the metal chair and is only held up by the way her arms are wound around the metal chair. The magic of the restraints burns her skin but she can’t stop fighting against it. There are noises coming from her, uncontrollable sobs and whimpers that fill the space surrounding them. 

When she next opens her eyes, the sphere is in her line of vision and the golden magic that swirls within is brighter and thicker. The thrum of magic that she’s felt in the mark on her chest is growing fainter and she wonders if the orb is meant to drain her – and why. Her brain is groggy but Hermione tries to push through it, reach Ron, make this stop. 

“Ron, please fight this,” she begs him, wincing as every word that leaves her hurts. Her throat swells, her heart pounds in her chest. Hermione is sure that her magic is almost depleted and she’s growing increasingly weak. She needs him to snap out of it. She needs him to see her. “Ron. Think about your family, your children. The day that Rosie was born, do you remember? She only had eyes for you – Ron,  _ please _ !” 

Something inside her snaps and she cries out against the pain. 

Ron’s grip on the orb tightens as it flares golden and glows outwardly against his hand.  

“Hermione—”  His voice is harsh, rough, worried. “Fuck, Godric’s balls, Hermione – what’s happening?” 

He kneels down in front of her and she sags against her binds. Every breath that leaves her is painful, stabbing into her ribs like a knife. His hand finds her bruised jaw again and she flinches away. For a moment, his eyes widen but then he steels his expression and takes stock of all her injuries without touching her. 

“What is this? What – I was at that pub and—” 

“You were mad about Harry and Draco,” she whispers. 

“Harry and Draco weren’t there.” He looks confused, a notch forming between his heavy brows. “There was a bloke in a—”

Ron crumples to the ground at her feet. His head cracks against a stone on the ground. The orb rolls out of his slackened hand and across the floor. 

“That’s about enough of that.” 

Hermione lifts her gaze from Ron’s unconscious body and finds an imposing, stocky figure with shaggy black hair and a menacing expression standing at the base of the stairs. His foot stops the orb as it rolls straight to him and he leans down to grab it. His fingers curl around it possessively. 

“Gryffindors, Weasleys,” he spits the words with a mirthless snort. “Bloody useless oafs. This one, though, his anger. It was too perfect.” 

Every instinct inside of her screams to run, fight, do what she has to do to get away now. But she’s stuck watching as he approaches. His eyes aren’t even on her; he’s watching the sphere with an almost loving gaze. She wants to vomit, but instead coughs up blood. 

There’s something familiar about him when her eyes finally focus ahead. For a moment, her breathing seizes in her chest and her eyes flicker down to the cursed  _ Mudblood _ scar on her arm. He’s different, he’s not as mad in the eyes as Bellatrix’s husband. There’s a sinister glint, dark and nesting behind his gaze. 

Harry had said that Rodolphus is dead. 

She gasps. 

  
The brother. 

“So many stories of the Mudblood – Brightest Witch of Her Age — and all that rot.” He growls as he bends and stares right into her eyes. He reeks like whiskey and must. His teeth are crooked and starting to decay. When he breathes on her, a putrid smell roils her stomach. “You’re nothing but a disgusting excuse for a girl who got lucky that Mudblood sympathizers run the country.” 

He barks a laugh and she jumps at the sound. Perhaps he  _ is _ mad. 

She feels the magic inside the orb swirling around, like it’s got a mind of its own and is trying to reach her. There’s nothing she can do to get to it, not without the use of her hands. The thrum of her own magic is still dwindling even as the orb brightens and shines. 

“Do you know what this is?” He holds it up to her eyes so that she has a clear view of it. It’s round and black, except for the shimmering gold inside of it. It’s smooth and encased in thick glass. Quite beautiful and undeserved of his grubby hands touching it. 

Hermione shakes her head and a sharp jolt shoots down the side of her neck. She grits her teeth against the pain but refuses to close her eyes longer than a blink. 

“It’s a magic vessel.” He spins it around carefully in his fingers to give her a three-sixty look at it. “It belonged to my brother.” 

Her mind is fuzzy. Concentrating on his words, connecting the dots, it all comes to her slowly. Bellatrix and her husband, the orb, there’s something she should be understanding from his words, but it’s just out of her reach. Hermione takes a deep breath and it rattles in her chest. 

“Bella was meant to use it with him, but she went mad with the magic.” Rabastan’s growl sent fear cascading through her. She’s entirely at his mercy and it doesn’t seem as if he has a good hold on his mental stability. “And then they went to prison for torturing those aurors. Bloody useless, the three of them.” 

Hermione’s eyes dart to Ron’s prone form on the floor. God, she wishes he’d wake up. Let her loose. Give her a fighting chance. She struggles against her binds again and winces as it shocks her wrists. 

“But, when I saw your photo with the Malfoy boy, I knew we had another chance.” His menacing laugh forces gooseflesh all over her body. 

Malfoy. She holds back a sob; she needs him, needs Harry, needs  _ someone _ . But she’s alone and she’s sure she’s going to die. The children – at the thought, tears leak out of her eyes and forge a path down her bruised and bloody cheek. 

“I found your ginger drunk in a pub,” Rabastan continues with no care for her tears. “It’s amazing how easy it is to control someone who allows their emotions to control them.”

Hermione glances to Ron again and wonders if she can reach her foot over to kick him. He’s utterly still and just out of reach. There’s nothing she can do but sit and listen to Lestrange unload his tale and she doesn’t want to hear it. 

“You don’t have to do this,” she tries quietly, unable to project her voice. Her windpipe is drier than a desert and she’s sure that she’s going to lose her voice. A hazy blackness is seeping into her vision. She’s fighting against it to keep from losing consciousness again. 

“I do!” He shouts and it pierces through her. “This was our right, our fate. I was supposed to be at their sides, right there beside them as they marched with The Dark Lord and—“

“You were jealous.” 

She should hold her tongue, but the words burst from her regardless. His hand flies up above her and she winces before it collides with her cheek. It only fuels her on and she holds onto her rage because it might be the only thing to keep her holding on. 

“The fourth wheel to a—much—more powerful magic.” She flinches away from him, but he doesn’t bring his hand down. Instead, he casts Crucio and her body twitches under it. 

“—they were all blues. And the magic was consumed too quickly.” Rabastan backs away from her and places the sphere on the shelf. She thinks he was talking through her torture, unsure what he’s on about until he suddenly continues. “My brother didn’t know what the magic did, what the colors were for, but I think I know now.” 

Hermione grasps at the information he’s giving her. She tries so hard to connect what he’s saying to everything she knows about paramours and triad magic. If she ever gets out of here, she needs this and if Rabastan gets away, Harry needs to know. 

Rabastan kicks Ron’s limp body and sneers down at him. “And Weasley here was only too keen to blabber on about how he found you with Malfoy and Potter. When I saw the faint glow on your skin at the pub, I knew—“

“You were at Cerberus?” She rasps and attempts to clear her throat, with no success. “You had Ron under the Imperious then, didn’t you?”

“How else was I going to get my vessel from Potter’s office?” Rabastan toes Ron’s body over so that his peaceful, unconscious face is pointed at the ceiling. “He just couldn’t shut his mouth. Told me all about where you’re living, what you’re up to, how he couldn’t believe his best mate would betray him by sleeping with his ex-wife.” 

He clicks his tongue and turns back to Hermione. 

“He’s worn out his usefulness now.” 

Rabastan’s arm rises above his head. A green spark lights the tip of his wand. A flourishing movement slices through the air. 

“Avada Kedav—”

“Expelliarmus!” 

Rabastan’s wand jumps from his hand and flies across the room. Harry captures it skillfully and breaks it in half. 

“You made a massive mistake, Lestrange.” Draco’s voice hisses through gritted teeth. His gray eyes are blown wide and focused solely on her face. 

  
Hermione’s heart leaps into her throat. She tries to get free, twists and turns, but she’s stuck to the damn chair and it’s so painful. She knows she’s safe, knows they’ll get her out of here, and the relief of it all overtakes her. 

She slumps in the chair and barely registers the light of a new spell brightening the room. 

Harry’s voice calls her name, but she’s already gone. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I couldn’t not post this tonight. I was going to wait and post on the weekly update but... again, as you’ve come to know, I have no chill. 
> 
> Continued heartfelt thanks for all the love, comments, messages, etc. You’re all incredible and I appreciate you! <3


	26. Mercy

Harry is no stranger to loss.

He lost his parents before he could speak. 

He lost his godfather before he left Hogwarts. 

He lost so many friends and those he considers family before the end of the war. 

But he can’t—in any stretch of the imagination—consider losing Hermione Granger. 

She’s unconscious in a metal chair, directly across from him and hidden behind the bulky from of Rabastan Lestrange. Wandless, Rabastan is at his mercy. 

Harry Potter is out of mercy. 

He lifts his hand, the end of his wand sparking green. The room erupts around him, magic swooshing through his body and whipping his hair around his head. His gaze is steady on Rabastan, his lips barely moving as the words of the most unforgivable curse begins to tumble from him. 

“Avada Ked—”

It’s Draco’s hand that steadies him, pulls his wand down, and doesn’t let go of his hand nor remove the point of his wand from Lestrange. He’s shaking, rage filling him. The mark on his chest is pulsing, egging him on to do it – murder the bastard. 

“You can’t,” Draco tells him quietly. Harry opens his mouth to argue, but Draco doubles down. “You  _ won’t _ .” 

“Look at her!” Harry angles his chin at Hermione’s prone body. Fury licks at his spine, heats his nerves as he watches to see her shoulders rise and fall. To make sure she’s still breathing. To confirm she’s still alive. His eyes drop to the ground and he releases a shaky breath. 

  
Rabastan’s hand twitches and it catches Harry’s eyes. He narrows them and tries to snatch his grasp out of Draco’s hold. Draco only squeezes tighter. 

“I see her, Potter. I see her.” Draco shoots a wordless stunner at Rabastan with his free hand who crumples to the floor on top of Ron with a grunt wheezing from his lips. “Go untie her. Let me deal with this.”

He can’t leave Draco, not alone with a rogue Death Eater and Ron. Merlin, Ron – what happened to him? Is he teaming up with Rabastan? Is this where their friendship led? Harry’s overcome with the urge to crush his boot against Ron’s windpipe—a fleeting thought as Draco calls his name and brings his focus back to his pale face. 

“Draco—” Harry’s worried eyes consider Draco for a moment and wipes his hand over his face. “I can’t – I don’t know what I’d do, Draco, I just—”

“Hey, hey. It’s alright. She’s—she’ll be alright.” Draco grabs Harry’s shoulder gently and pulls him into chest. They don’t have time, but he’s a mess and so Draco makes the time, and he’s eternally grateful. Draco’s fingers caress the side of his neck and he whispers into his ear. “You have to suck it up, Potter. You have to get her untied and take her to Tink.”

“Tink?” Harry blinks as Draco pulls away. He crouches down and pats down Rabastan’s body – something Harry knows he should be doing but is frozen in place. What can a house elf do that St. Mungo’s can’t. 

Draco glances up at him, there’s anger in his eyes that softens towards him. “Who do you think cared for me when—after everything?” 

The Worst Auror, that’s what they should call him. Harry’s certain that every thought in his head is about as useless as a plastic teddy bear. He can barely draw his eyes away from Draco long enough to look at Hermione again and when he finally does, the fear intensifies. Is there even life there? He can’t tell and he’s afraid to approach her; hands shaking, eyes stinging, face pale. 

“Tink can care for her, Potter.” Draco shoves Rabastan’s body away from Ron. “You have to get her somewhere safe. Can you do that for me, love?” 

The gentleness that Draco employs to calm him barely works. Harry breathes deeply through his nose and finally takes a step toward the unconscious witch in the chair. While Draco hauls Rabastan to sitting position against the cement wall, Harry takes Hermione’s chin between his fingers and lifts her head gently. 

She’s bruised, black and purple marks that mimic the shape of knuckles shadow her cheek. Her bottom lip is split right down the middle. Dried and fresh blood decorates her pretty face. Her pallor is a sickening gray color. As his fingers slip from her chin to her throat, Harry feels for the one thing he’s praying silently to feel—a pulse, any sign of life beyond the shallow rise and fall of her shoulders. 

“She’s alive.” He whispers the words and then repeats them louder, but there’s no excitement in his voice. Barely, he wants to say; she’s barely alive. 

“Potter, I can  _ feel _ her.” Draco glances over his shoulder as he makes quick work to bind Rabastan. “Stop thinking with your head and think with your heart. You can feel her through our mark. She’s still there, I could have told you that.” 

“Do you have to be such a prick right now?” Harry allows Hermione’s chin to fall against her chest again and walks around the back of the chair to unbind her hands. “How was I supposed to know that the life I feel isn’t yours?” 

“Sorry.” Draco sighs. “Will you hurry up and get her out of here so I can wake this bastard?” 

“I can’t leave you alone here.” And Draco is absolutely fucking mental to think otherwise, Harry adds internally for good measure. 

“You can’t very well leave her here without treatment, either. You should take Weasley, too.” Draco nods to Ron’s limp body. 

“He can sit and rot.” Harry narrows his eyes at the redhead. “What the hell was he doing here, Draco?” 

“We don’t have time for this! I don’t care what you do with Weasley, I don’t bloody care, Potter!” Draco stands again and turns to face Harry. There’s desperation staring back at him and Harry winces because he hadn’t even considered that Draco’s holding onto his sanity by a single thread. “Turn off your auror brain and just get her the fuck out of here, alright?” 

“H—” 

It’s barely a breath, so light and weak, but neither of them miss it. It’s a jolt through Harry straight over his heart and he’s at Hermione’s side in an instant, kneeling at her feet so that he can look at her face through the mass of ratty curls. 

“Hermione,” he whispers her name on a frantic breath. Draco is by his side in an instant and his hands are in her hair, smoothing through the tangles and knots. “Love, can you hear me?” 

Her lips tremble. There’s a blank stare in her eyes when she finally looks at him. Harry smiles at her, the smallest hint of a smile that he can muster, and takes her hands in his. She winces and that’s when he looks down to see the red burn marks marring her skin. He curses under his breath. 

“Can you speak?” Draco ducks down to catch her vacant gaze. Her throat constricts, the muscles clenching visibly in her neck. “Okay, it’s alright, we’ve got you, Hermione.” 

“Ron—” It falls from her lips and she breathes heavily as her eyes dart to where their former best mate’s body lies still. “Imp… erious.”

“It’s okay, love. We’re going to take care of Ron, too.” Harry glances to Draco and back to Hermione again. “Can you stand?”

She tries to shake her head, but cries out in pain. Harry starts toward her, feeling absolutely helpless at the sound. Something inside his body snaps at seeing her in so much pain. He can feel her will to live pounding through him, though, he recognizes it now. It strums the nerve endings beneath the soul mark and he’s so grateful because Hermione looks ready to collapse again at any second. 

“Don’t try,” Draco whispers to her and dips to kiss her forehead, just under a jagged cut that starts at her hairline. “Potter will get you home to Tink. She’ll take care of you.” 

“S—” It hisses from her several times, dragged out through her clenched teeth. “S—”

“St. Mungo’s can’t treat the Cruciatus quite like Tink.” Draco’s lips form an unbending line. “Potter, you have to get her out of here.” 

“And leave you to Rabastan?” Harry snaps and stands to face Draco. “I’m an auror, Draco. This is what I do for a living. You take her home and I’ll—”

“S—” It interrupts what’s about to be a furious argument and tries to lift her finger to point. 

“What is it, love?” Harry drops back down to her and takes her hand in his to keep her from moving. He tries to smile at her, but it falls short. “Draco’s right – pains me to admit it.” 

“Orb.” Hermione grinds the word out and squeezes her eyes shut. “Orb.” 

Harry looks over his shoulder just in time to see a bulky form launch itself at Draco. Before he can react, Draco’s body is knocked to the side and is tackled to the ground. There is cursing, grunting, and the sound of a fist crunching into bone. Hermione tries to stand, but can’t lift her own bodyweight. 

“Orb, Harry, the orb.” Hermione’s eyes begin to droop again. 

“Hermione!” Harry is torn. Draco or Hermione? “Fuck. Draco—”

Another crunch. A wheeze. Spell fire. 

“I’m going to fucking kill you, you disgusting blood traitor!” 

Harry’s chest is on fire. He’s suffocating from it. 

Draco yells a string of unintelligible words and then groans. 

The scene around him moves in slow motion. Draco pulls his fist back and knocks it to the side of Rabastan’s head. He scrambles out from beneath the Death Eater and reaches for his wand that’s fallen several feet away. Rabastan’s arm raises high, his wand flicking through the air in an elaborate movement toward Draco’s face. 

Harry makes a move to help Draco when he feels Hermione’s hand curl around his. 

“The. Orb.” 

He follows her line of sight and finds the little black sphere sitting on a shelf across the room. A golden substance – like dust, but more cohesive, swirls around inside of it. When his eyes connect with it, he feels the magic inside of him reach for it. 

He takes one step toward it.

Draco rushes toward Rabastan and knocks him back. He collides with Harry’s legs. Harry collapses onto the ground and smacks his head against the concrete. He fades out for a split second and when he’s focused again, Draco’s fist is heading straight for Rabastan’s face again. 

They’re caught in a fight for several seconds when suddenly the entire room erupts in a beautiful golden glow. 

Everyone is still. 

Time stops. 

Harry’s thoughts race. Hermione. She’s standing beneath the shelf with the orb in her hand. Her skin glows golden. She sways on the spot and so he pushes himself up as fast as he can and rushes to her side.

“That’s my fucking vessel, you little Mudblood bitch!” Rabastan’s harsh voice calls out through the basement and his hands wrap about Draco’s throat. “Give it to me or I’ll kill him.” 

“Don’t you dare—” Draco croaks and then his words are cut off. 

“Draco!” Harry’s hands are around Hermione, holding her upright. He needs to rush to Draco, needs to do something other than stand torn between the two of them. 

It’s Hermione that saves him. Harry’s wand is stolen from his grasp and it’s clenched between her fingers. She nearly collapses in his arms, but he holds her firmly in place. Her hand reaches back, drawing an intricate pattern in the air with the tip of the wand and then shoots it forward toward Rabasatan. 

He crumples to the ground like a sack of bricks. 

Draco falls forward on his hands and knees and gasps for breath. He coughs, runs his hands over his throat where there’s bound to be fingerprints where Rabastan tried to crush his windpipe. 

Harry can feel the intense pounding of energy from Hermione as his wand clatters to the ground. Her legs give out and she folds under her own weight. 

“Hermione!” Harry calls her name as she loses consciousness again. “Draco, please—”

Draco stands on shaky legs and places Rabastan under a full body bind. He pins him to the wall and damn near knocks his head against the ceiling. Harry thinks it’s not an accident, but doesn’t have time to consider Draco’s motivations as the girl in his arms begins to convulse. 

“Take her. I’ll finish here – send the aurors and get. her. to. Tinks.” Even Draco’s words are laced with a tremor. His hands are trembling as he helps Harry hold her quaking body. “Just… get her out of here, Potter. Now.” 

“Alright, alright.” Harry wraps his arms around her, trying to be as gentle as possible because he hasn’t had a chance to assess the rest of her for injuries. He’s fucking terrified as he stands with his arms cradling her neck and the crook of her knees. “Draco—”

“Yeah, Harry, I love you too.” He presses his lips to Harry’s quickly and then to Hermione’s forehead. “Go!”

  
  
  


They land in the middle of the den and Harry’s knees almost give out underneath him. Hermione’s head is lolling over the crook of his elbow and the only thing keeping him from further panic is the shallow rise and fall of her chest. 

“Tink!” He calls out for the elf with a raspy growl. 

  
The little elf in a yellow sun hat pops next to his side. Her wide eyes are filled with dread as they blink up at him. 

“Mister Harry! Mistress Hermione!” Tink squeaks as she snaps her fingers. A cot appears in the room. “Where is Master Draco?” 

Harry lays Hermione on the cot gently and takes care to straighten her legs and tuck her arms to her sides. It’s the first time he’s been able to take stock of her entire body and what he sees makes him heave a dry retch. She’s dirty, covered in blood, and so pale that she almost matches the white sheet of the cot. 

“Can you help her?” Harry winces as Tink removes Hermione’s clothes with a flick her of hand. There are bruises everywhere, dark splotches of color from her hips to her shoulders. The urge to vomit continues to grow. 

  
How the hell did he allow this to happen to her? One minute, everything was wonderful and now… now he’s worried that he’ll lose her. And Draco – Merlin, it took everything in him to leave Draco alone with Lestrange. He’s fighting the urge to leave Hermione under Tinks’ care and return to help Draco. But, the aurors will be there soon. He touches the mark on his chest absently and prays with his eyes clenched tight. 

“Tink.” Harry breathes the elf’s name. “Tink, please.” 

  
“Mister Harry shuts up.” She doesn’t even look at him. Her thick hands are on Hermione’s body and determining the extent of the damage. Hermione’s shaking, twitching; an effect of the Cruciatus. 

“Miss Hermione is dying, sir.” 

Harry can’t stop himself. He vomits at his feet. Tears leave his eyes. His chest squeezes, a rough tug from his heart to his soul mark. His entire body is aflame with fear.

“No. She can’t—” A sob rips from him. 

“Mister will shut his mouth so Tink can work!” 

Objects fly around the room, whizzing past Harry’s head and appearing as if from nowhere. After several moments, Tink stops the jerks that wrack Hermione’s body. Seeing her so still only fills Harry with more dread as he watches the rise of her chest become lighter. 

He watches silently, hands trembling in his lap. Every gasp Hermione makes, he launches up from his seat. Tink threatens to bind him to the spot. So, he watches. Seconds tick into minutes and he’s a mess watching Tink shake her head, sigh, and work on various areas of Hermione’s body. The light in the room begins to fade away when Tink finally speaks. 

“Where is Master Draco?” 

“Here, Tink.”  Harry’s head snaps to the side to see Draco rush into the room. He sheds his cloak and unbuttons the cuffs of his sleeves. They’re rolled up to his elbows as he stands over Hermione’s prone body and surveys her. 

“Draco!” Harry stands quickly, but Tink snaps her fingers and he’s forced to sit once again. “What the hell? Draco, tell your bloody house elf to—”

“Shut up, Potter.” Draco hisses through his teeth. “You’re too emotional. I can feel it. You need to go for a walk.” 

“Go for a—are you daft? I’m not leaving her side!” Harry splutters indignantly and tries to remove himself from the chair only to find that he’s stuck there. He growls. “Let me out of the fucking chair!”

“No.” Tink growls back and Harry thinks he sees a small smirk playing on the corners of Draco’s lips. “You  isn’t to be in the way, Mister Harry.” 

“Fine. At least tell me what’s happening!” Harry leans to the side to try and view Hermione around their bodies. She’s covered in a thick paste where her bruises are the worst. 

“Rabastan is in auror custody.” Draco lifts his wand and performs some sort of spell over Hermione’s abdomen. He hisses and then circles his wand – Harry really has no idea what he’s doing; healing isn’t his forte. “Weasley is in hospital – handcuffed so that he can’t run away.” 

“What the hell was that golden glow before Hermione fainted?” Harry asks, feeling reassured a bit belatedly that Draco is alive and relatively unscathed. 

Draco reaches into his pocket and withdraws the black sphere between two fingers. He holds it up and then tosses it into Harry’s lap. There’s no more glow to it, just shiny and black, just like he found it in the Lestrange Townhouse ages ago. 

“Hermione’s magic?” Harry’s eyebrows are high on his head. “He was stealing her magic?” 

Draco nods and continues working over Hermione’s body with Tink. She twitches and Harry wants to run to her, at least to hold her hand. 

“He must have been siphoning it from her before we arrived.” Draco’s words are more conversational than Harry could ever muster.  “When she touched it – it might have saved all of us.”

He’s detached and it bothers him. Shouldn’t he be raging like Harry, ready to go back and murder Rabastan for what he’s done? 

“But why?” Harry tries to hold onto the orb, but can’t move his hands. “Could you bloody release my hands at least? I’m not a prisoner here, Draco!” 

His hands were unstuck and he grasped the orb in his palm. 

“I don’t know, Potter. I don’t bloody know why any of this is happening.” Draco waves his wand over Hermione’s head and takes a deep breath. “There’s brain activity still. She’s still here, thank Salazar.” 

Draco’s shoulders sag with relief. 

“Was that even a possibility?” Harry demands, getting angrier the longer he’s not told anything. 

“Tink is afraid she won’t wake up.” It’s barely a whisper. 

“She never said—”

“She doesn’t have to, Potter. She’s my elf. We share a bond. I know what she’s thinking.” 

“We should take her to hospital.” Harry tosses the orb to the side. Can’t be bothered with the damn thing right now. “What happened after I left?” 

“Your aurors showed up.” Draco shrugs and Harry realizes that Draco hasn’t looked him in the eyes the entire time he’s been in the house. 

“Draco.” Harry tries again to lift from the chair – something is wrong – but he’s firmly planted in place. “Draco, what’s wrong?” 

His movements stop. Draco’s hands rest on the cot next to Hermione’s head. His shoulders arch and his back expands under a deep breath. 

“Tink.” Harry glances to the elf. “Tink, please release me.  _ Please _ .” 

There’s a quiet whoosh around his body and then Harry can move. He’s at Draco’s side in an instant with his hands on his hips. He turns Draco around by the hips and lifts a hand to his jaw. He’s got stubble on his face and there are dark circles bruising the underneath of his eyes. His eyes are glossy and tinted red. 

“Hey—” Harry caresses his face with careful fingers and he’s suddenly not filled with as much rage as before. The mark on his chest vibrates at the touches. “Draco, it’s okay. She’ll be okay.” 

“I thought—” Draco swallows, eyes falling to the ground and away from Harry. “I needed you to get out of there, Potter. I thought we’d lost her and then you—”

Harry crushes Draco to him and holds him there in a tight embrace. His breath escapes him in heavy gasps and Draco finally wraps his arms around Harry. They stay like that for several minutes, breathing each other in and drawing comfort off of one another. There’s a modicum of relief for Harry, knowing that Draco’s okay and that Hermione is going to be okay, too. 

“I’m okay,” Harry reassures him quietly as he draws back. Gray and green meet and there’s something between them that hadn’t ever been there before. It’s subtle, a shift of magic, but stronger somehow as they lock eyes. “We’re going to be alright.” 

“Do you feel that?” Draco asks, lips parted and bright red from the salty tears that have trailed his face. “It’s—”

“Stronger.” Harry nods. “I feel it.” 

“Potter—”

Harry smiles and runs the bad of his fingers down the sharp plane of Draco’s cheek. 

“You called me Harry.” 

“What?” A notch forms between Draco’s eyebrows. “I did no such thing.” 

“Call me Harry again.” 

The words are so soft and he’s sure that Draco’s going to roll his eyes like he always does when Harry requests something he doesn’t want to do. But instead, Draco brings his hands up to his face and holds him steady. His eyes sweep from lips to chaotic hair atop his head. 

“Harry.” 

  
It hangs between them for only a second and Harry can’t stop himself from planting his lips softly against Draco’s. 

“She is to be getting peace and quiet now.” Tink interrupts their moment forcefully, her hands shoving them out of the room. “You is to be resting and Mistress Hermione is to be undisturbed. Tink will watch her tonight.” 

Draco’s hand curls into Harry’s and he’s led to the sofa.  “We’ll watch her, Tink. If anything happens, we will call for you.” 

  
“But Master Draco!” 

  
It’s the first time Harry’s ever witnessed a house elf argue with its master. Draco doesn’t react, except for crouching down in front of the house elf to whisper into her ear. Tink’s large bat-like ears flap as she nods her pointy chin. With a quiet  _ pop _ , she’s gone. 

Draco sits on the sofa and pulls Harry down to lie with him. Harry’s head is in his lap and Draco’s fingers run absently through his hair. He feels his eyes giving in to the exhaustion, but keeps widening them so that he won’t fall asleep. He wants to be with her, wants to watch every little breath she takes.

“Sleep, love.” Draco leans down and presses his lips to Harry’s forehead, just over his lightning scar. “I’ll wake you if she wakes.” 

“Tell me again,” Harry whispers as his eyes close. 

This time, he doesn’t open them again. Before he loses consciousness, Draco rests his knuckles lightly to his cheek. 

“I love you, Harry.” 

And then he’s lost to his dreams. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can’t believe we’re almost to the end of this story. And we’ve hit 100k with this update and that’s just crazy! Saying thank you to all you wonderful readers once again. <3


	27. The Fight of Her Life

**THE FIGHT OF HER LIFE: THE BRIGHTEST WITCH OF HER AGE RECOVERING FROM TORTURE**

Draco stares at the words and tries his best to force down the immediate reaction he feels to march into The Daily Prophet’s office and curse Rita Skeeter to hell. It hasn’t been twenty four hours and already the media is circling for a story. News of Rabastan Lestrange’s arrest is everywhere. The WWN has been updating the story for hours – though there’s no update to Hermione’s condition. Potter ran off to the Ministry at first light. Draco tried to dissuade him, but he’s hardheaded and so he floo’d without even allowing Draco to coerce him in more inappropriate ways. 

_ In a shocking twist of fate, Hermione Granger finds herself living with former Death Eater and heir to massive fortune, Draco Malfoy. And, this reporter has it first, Miss Granger’s lust for fame and fortune has not abated all these years, as she finds herself caught in a love triangle with The Boy Who Lived himself, Harry Potter.  _

He’s fairly certain that Harry is going to put his foot down about Skeeter’s article, but there’s no point. The word is out and now it’s all how they spin it. An incredibly difficult thing to do with Hermione still unconscious in his den. 

“Master Draco?” Tink is by his side with a quiet pop and stares up at him from beneath the brim of a purple cap. “Can Tink be getting anything for you?” 

“Please check on Hermione again and let me know if there is any change.” 

The elf pops away after fidgeting with the edge of her dress for a moment. 

Draco sips his cup of coffee and sets the Prophet flat onto the table. He knows it’s only a matter of time before there’s an onslaught of backlash over the news and so his steady breaths are growing more ragged by the second. He was so sure days ago that he could tell the world he’s with Potter and now with this, Draco’s not so sure the  _ world _ is ready for the truth of their triad. 

And there’s still so much they don’t know. So much they can’t know without Hermione awake. The orb sits near her in the den, but hasn’t so much as flickered gold since they brought it back from the basement of the Lestrange Townhouse. Draco doesn’t know if that caused her coma or if it actually saved her life. There are too many questions and he’s not sure how he can face the thunder of the world without answers. 

_ Former Death Eater _ stares back at him from the article and he curls his lips at the words. Those words will follow him around forever. Will follow  _ them _ . How can he possibly put them through the horrible connotations of that particular title? 

“Draco?” 

He sets down the half-drunk coffee and takes a steadying breath. The voice is sweet enough, but he is more than familiar with his mother’s particular brand of fire. She pops in around the corner dressed every bit the part of a wealthy estate wife. It fooled many people, but never those closest to her. He stands to greet her, a hand tucked casually within his pocket and a slight dip of his chin. 

“Mother.” 

“I see there is no change in her.” 

What she really means:  _ is the article true _ ? 

Draco nods, answering the subtext.  _ It is. _

“Shouldn’t she be tended to at St. Mungo’s?” 

Translated:  _ is this really such a good idea? _

“Merlin himself couldn’t change my mind.”  He offers her a seat and tucks her into the table like the proper gentleman he is raised to be. “Why are you here, Mother?” 

Narcissa chuckles, a hand to her chest as if she’s offended he even thinks to ask such an abrasive question. “I should think that’s obvious, darling. The Daily Prophet quite clearly stated that you faced off against an old… acquaintance.”

Less subtext, more direct. She’s fishing for something, he thinks with a slight smirk in her direction. 

“Rabastan is in prison and is no longer a threat to me,” Draco tells her carefully. 

“Really Draco, you’re going to make me pull it from you?” Narcissa pinches her lips and stares at him for a solid minute before relenting with annoyance. “Did Bellatrix cause this, Draco?” 

That takes Draco by surprise. Narcissa’s smirk – so similar to Draco’s that it causes his brain to stutter for a moment – lifts in his direction.

“Aunt Bellatrix is dead.” He watches the muted emotion flicker across his mother’s face before she straightens her shoulders further and raises a perfectly sculpted eyebrow. “Right, you know that. What I meant to say is that she had no bearing on Rabastan’s actions last night.” 

“Oh, Draco.” She clicks her tongue and laughs softly. “I believe that Mister Potter’s direct nature is rubbing off on you.”

He likes the words, but feels that mother probably means them negatively and so he quashes the smile that’s threatening to appear on his face. “What is it that you want to know, mother?” 

“You are not entering into this… relationship…” she tests the word carefully and lets it linger between them for a moment and then continues. “under the duress of your aunts’ crazy ideals of triads and their power?” 

Draco, entirely taken aback at the accusation, bursts out into laughter. At his mother’s less-than-amused expression, he clears his throat and cants his head to the side. “Apologies, mother, but are you insinuating that the reason I’m with Potter and Hermione is to become some type of Dark Lord?” 

“Your father seems to be under the assumption—” 

“Mum.” Draco chuckles and watches her startled face; he only ever addresses her so informally when he’s feeling playful and she’s brought it out of him in the most unpredictable of times. He stands from his seat and drops a light kiss to her cheek. “The magic doesn’t work that way. Father is going to be very disappointed if he’s holding out hope that we’ll be trying to conquer the wizarding world.” 

Narcissa takes a breath, releases it on a light sigh, and stands from the chair. “He will be so very disappointed to hear it, darling.”

Draco ducks his chin and stuffs his hands into his pockets. “I’m aware that he will not take kindly to the situation. But perhaps he  _ should _ be made aware of the potential power we hold together?” 

Subtext:  _ lie.  _

“Indeed, he should know how fruitful the union will be once Miss Granger awakes.” 

What she means:  _ your father will believe you to be a future dark lord until his last breath. _

Narcissa bows her head slightly and sweeps from the home, leaving Draco on his own once more. 

  
  
  


Accompanying Potter to St. Mungo’s to confront Weasley is probably the worst idea that Draco has ever had. Ever. Boy Wonder wants to approach the situation in a non-violent fashion, understanding to the fact that Weasel King was under the Imperious Curse. Draco, on the other hand, wants to strangle the arsehole until the light leaves his eyes. 

It’s been forty-eight hours and Hermione is still unconscious. 

He’ll never forgive the Ginger Git. 

“If you’re going to explode, perhaps you should stay outside the ward?” Harry’s hand is on his shoulder, firm grip into his muscle, and catches his eye with a serious sort of stare. 

“I can control myself, Potter.” Barely, but he also didn’t yank himself away and storm through the door like a petulant child. Personal growth. “Let’s get this over with before I change my mind.” 

When they enter the room, only one other Weasley is present. The frumpy housewife, with her curly hair, and floral pattern robes, sits by Ron’s side. The frown lines on her face are deep like ravines; how she’s managed to mother seven ginger beasts, he’ll never know. She stands when they walk through the door and she approaches Potter with wide open arms and a smile that Draco can’t decide is fake or not. 

“Harry, dear! Oh, I’m so happy to see you. How is Hermione, love?” Molly wraps her hands around his back and pats him roughly. 

“Hello, Mrs. Weasley,” Harry says and it’s so different to the tone he’d used with Draco moments ago that it almost takes Draco off his guard. So friendly, not at all filled with rage as he’d been prone to for the previous few hours. “There’s no change to Hermione, but her vitals are stable.” 

“Oh, the poor love. You’ll let me know if there’s anything I can do, won’t you?” She steps back and glances to Draco, still wearing the same smile. “Draco, oh you look as if you haven’t been sleeping, love. Would you like some tea, maybe?”

She crushes his body to hers and he’s not sure what’s happening, so Draco pats her awkwardly on the back and glances to the side to see Potter holding in a laugh. Draco scowls in his direction and is relieved when the Weasley matriarch finally lets him loose. 

“I’ll get you boys some tea—”

“Coffee, please, Mrs. Weasley,” Potter asks her with a smile in Draco’s direction. His hand captures Draco’s and holds on tight. Draco swallows a lump and nods. 

She’s still smiling and he thinks it’s strange that her reaction is anything other than disdain for them. Her son is in hospital but she’s still so homely and kind. He understands why the Weasleys were shunted from the Sacred Twenty Eight; nothing kind lasts that long among the elite. 

Molly leaves and it leaves them alone in the room with Ron, who Draco hasn’t looked at since they entered the room. He finds Weasley staring at them, eyes dropping to their joined hands at their hips. Harry tugs him forward to the foot of Weasley’s bed and places their hands on the metal foot of the bed. 

“Ron, I’m glad you’re awake.” Potter isn’t smiling any longer, but his voice is jovial enough. He squeezes Draco’s fingers and doesn’t relent. 

Weasley’s eyes narrow as they raise back to Potter. The only time he’s seen this animosity before was the night Weasley stormed from their home. “Bloody glad, are you? Psh.” 

“Ron.” Potter’s voice carries with it a warning. Clipped, harsh. “I’m not here to fight with you. I want to know you’re okay and I want to let you know that Hermione is still comatose.” 

Weasley doesn’t react. His lips stretch thin over his freckly face and he flushes at the mention of Hermione. Draco bites his tongue to the point that it’ll likely bleed, but says nothing. 

“We know you were under the Imperious Curse.” Potter drops his hand and walks around Weasley’s bed so that their faces are closer together. “But after speaking with Rabastan, he let slip that you were so angry that it was easy to curse you. And, Ron, we can’t have that happen again.” 

“You can’t tell me not to be angry!” Ron shouts, fists pounding into the bed next to him. “She was my wife, Harry. My  _ wife _ . And you—”

“Watch it, Weasley,” Draco finally interjects, clear and sharp. 

“Fuck, Harry, why him? What is it? A Death Eater fetish?” 

Potter reacts like it’s a slap in the face. Fists clench at his sides, lips part under a ragged breath, chest rises and falls rapidly. On one hand Draco wants to go to him, but on the other, he wants this to play out without his meddling. Weasley has to cut this cord himself. 

“I love them,” Potter says simply after several beats. “You can’t change it no matter how much you shout about it. Hermione loves us, Draco loves us. This isn’t going anywhere, so you better get on board now.” 

“Or what?” Ron lifts a thick, ginger brow. “You’ll do to me what he did to Rabastan?” 

Draco shoves his tongue into his cheek and closes his eyes. Fucking Weasley and his damn bumbling, flapping mouth. What he wouldn’t give to just shove a pillow over his face and hold it there until his body is prone and lifeless. 

“Ron, I’m not here to argue about my relationship with Draco and Hermione.” It’s a flat refusal to discuss it and it’s the first time he’s really witnessed Potter put his foot down. He finds he quite likes it and it’s horrible timing. “What you did to Hermione is—”

“Not my fault,” Weasley finishes like a fucking idiot. “I was imperioused. I would never lay a hand on her – never have. Or has she painted me like some…  _ Death Eater?”  _

Draco starts forward, a growl in his throat and a fist at his side. Potter’s hand is splayed over his chest and holding him back. His lips barely move, but they whisper “Don’t” as an order. Draco relaxes – or, rather, tries not to punch the git in the throat – and takes a deep breath. 

“You know what you did.” Potter lets it ride for only a beat and then his surly auror voice is back and Draco’s sure he’s going to request some role play in the bedroom one of these days. “She was a mess because of you. You ripped her apart and she could barely put herself together. It stops now. All of the bullshit stops. Now.” 

Draco glances to Potter out the corner of his eye. The more Potter says, the more Draco wants to pounce on him here and now. 

“How dare you!” Ron practically spits at Potter. “She was broken after the war. A war that arsehole fought against us, in case you’ve forgotten! I helped put her back together!” 

“You kept her away from me,” Potter whispered in a deadly quiet voice. Draco has never seen him lose his patience before and he’s almost giddy at the idea of witnessing it now. “And the fact that you can’t see it is even more fucked up than the fact you’ve done it. I don’t want you to go near her without one of us present.” 

“Like hell! She’s the mother of my children, you can’t keep me away from them.” He’s bright red and practically foaming at the mouth. Rabid, like Draco always assumed he’d be when angry. 

“If you’re in a room with Hermione alone, I won’t hesitate to—”

“To what!” Ron shouts. 

“Ensure that you’re locked in Azkaban for a very long time. It won’t be difficult with a little persuasion from The Chosen One and Hermione’s memories.” Potter’s lips are lifted, but it’s far from humorous – it’s a promise, an end to the conversation. 

“I should take my children away from the lot of you,” he threatens quietly, eyes on his hands that are resting on his lap. 

“Get over it.” Potter grabs Draco’s hand and doesn’t let go. Weasley’s eyes drop to where they’re joined and he scoffs. “You lost her, Ron. And I love them more than anything in this world. They’re my family and if you ever,  _ ever _ hurt either of them again…” 

“Okay, the canteen didn’t have any coffee, but I was able to whip up a nice, strong cuppa.” Molly bustles into the room with a large smile on her face and slices directly through the tension. She shoves the cardboard cups into their hands and watches as they each take a sip. It tastes like piss. 

“Thanks,” Draco whispers despite the face he pulls. 

As if it’s a last ditch effort, Weasley cries to his mummy. “Mum, Hermione and Harry are canoodling with Malfoy!”

Potter’s hand tightens in his and Draco braces himself for Molly’s wrath. It never comes. She sits down in the chair closest to Ron’s head and smiles plainly at the pair of them. 

“Aren’t you disgusted?” Ron raises an eyebrow at his mother and she shakes her head. 

Molly, to his surprise, laughs and shrugs off her son’s discomfort. “My brother was in love with a muggleborn and a Black. It’s as natural as breathing for them and so we should treat it as such.” 

“What? Gross!” Ron pulls a face and Molly smacks him on the back of the head. 

“Ronald Weasley!” Her voice raises higher and higher and Harry tugs on his hand. “You weren’t raised to be so bloody closed minded, you buffoon! How dare you be so disrespectful toward the dead! That’s my brother you’re—”

Draco doesn’t get to hear the end of the lecture because Harry is pulling him out of the room and into the corridor. His shoulders rise and fall with laughter and Draco can’t help but corner him against the nearest wall. 

“You timed that purposefully, didn’t you?” Draco asks him with a proud smirk lifting the corners of his lips. 

Potter snorts even as Draco’s lips descend on his. Somewhere in his vicinity, there’s a click of a camera and a flash of light. He can’t even care. 

“Slytherin,” Draco murmurs against Harry’s smiling lips. 

  
  
  


When the children return home that night, Draco takes care to move Hermione into their bedroom so that she’s out of the noise and bustle of the house. The children are worried, they ask too many questions that their parents can’t answer, and more than once, Draco has had to shoo them away from her bedside. Comforting Hugo and Rose is the most difficult thing, but Potter tries his best. 

It’s during Potter’s shift of watching over Hermione that Draco finds he cannot sleep. He’s tried. Salazar’s Snake, he’s tried so hard but he’s only tossing and turning. When his eyes finally close and his brain starts to drift away, he’s roused by visions of Hermione’s crumpled form and Potter’s angry face as he begins to cast the killing curse. 

Sleeping is futile and so he gives up. 

Potter’s in the chair next to the bed, his hand curled around Hermione’s, with his chin resting on the mattress. Draco approaches him slowly and places his hand on Potter’s shoulder. He doesn’t startle and Draco thinks he knows the presence of his energy now; could probably tell the fitful sleep he’d attempted. 

It’s like that now, they’ve discovered in the forty eight hours since Hermione’s abduction. If he pays attention closely, he can feel them as clearly as he can feel his own emotions. They thrum through him like his own. Hermione’s are steady, sleepy, and painful now. It worries him, but Tink promises that her vitals continue to get better. And Potter is all worry and hope, a thing that Draco’s sure he wouldn’t feel without being privy to Potter’s emotions. 

Draco conjures a chair and pulls it up beside Potter. He places his hand over theirs and rests his head on his shoulder. 

“How long do you think is too long?” Potter asks him quietly, barely moving a muscle in all the time Draco’s been in the room. 

“As long as she breathes, there’s hope, right?” 

Potter lifts their hands and places a kiss to the back of his hand. Draco presses his lips to the side of his neck. 

“I want her to wake up, even if it’s only for a second to tell us she’s okay.” 

“She’ll wake up soon.” Draco doesn’t believe it even as he says it, but he knows that Potter needs to hear it and so he lies through the skin of his teeth if only to calm Potter’s nerves. 

“Couldn’t sleep?” Potter’s head cants in his direction and his bright green eyes survey him carefully. Draco long ago got used to the feeling of being seen though when Potter stares at him this way, but it’s no less unnerving. 

Draco shakes his head. “Too manic, I think. Worried about you and her and the children—”

“Dad?” 

A small voice interrupts them and Draco turns to see a small ginger head of hair leading a group of other children into the room. It’s Scorpius that speaks, but the rest create a little bundle of arms and legs that move as one cohesive unit into the room. 

“What are you doing here?” Draco asks them softly, a small smile on his lips. They already act so much like siblings, creeping through a dark manor as a group. “You should all be sleeping.” 

Hugo answers, his lower lip wobbling with his words. “I can’t sleep. My mum is… I can’t sleep.” 

Draco stands and moves toward the children. He ducks down when he reaches them and places a hand on Hugo’s shoulder. “Would you like to sleep in here with us? You have to be very, very quiet and well behaved, alright?” 

All their heads nod yes as if they’re timing it perfectly. Draco snorts and straightens out. Pulling his wand from his pocket, he swishes it through the air and transfigures the wardrobe into a bed. All of the children crawl into it. Behind him, Potter conjures a blanket and eases it gently over all of them. 

“James,” Potter whispers to his eldest, who sits up and stares without looking to Hermione. “You’re in charge, alright? If they start acting up, I want you to make them behave.” 

James’ chest puffs out, a large smile dimpling his cheeks. 

“You sure that’s the right choice. He’s kind of—”

“He’s bossy enough. They’ll behave.” Potter grins. “You want to lie down with them? You must be knackered, love.” 

“I’m fine.” 

He is exhausted, but he’s not going to be able to sleep and if he’s awake, he’ll be at her side. 

That’s all he can think about until sleep finally overtakes him; his head is on Harry’s shoulder, Harry’s head rests on top of his, and they don’t move until the sun rises. He blinks, unable to believe that he’s actually managed to get a couple of hours of stiff-necked sleep. 

But what greets him isn’t at all what he thought he’d wake up to.

He doesn’t move, doesn’t utter a breath, just sits and listens to the voice he’d missed so much over the past three days. 

“— and did you know that Merfolk have shiny green skin?” Hermione asks little Hugo quietly. Hugo doesn’t speak a response, but Hermione chuckles and continues. “She said ‘You can only take one!’”

  
“Oh no!” Hugo says in a strained whisper, as if he’s been told be very quiet and can hardly control his tone of voice. “What did Harry do next? Did you drown?” 

Draco laughs through his nose and he can feel Hermione’s eyes on him. He still refuses to move. 

“Oh no. Headmaster Dumbledore would never have allowed that,” she assures Hugo gently. He imagines that she’s carding her fingers through his hair and smiling that adoring Hermione smile at the boy. He still can’t help but snort at her reasoning; Albus Dumbledore is a very different wizard to Draco than he is to Harry and Hermione. He won’t bring it up any time soon. “In the end, Viktor came through and saved me, but it wasn’t because Harry didn’t try.” 

“Wow!” Hugo’s voice is loud and bellows through the room. Everyone rouses. “Dad says Viktor is a git!” 

Hermione can’t hold in her laughter and neither can Draco. He lifts his head and finds her eyes and it’s everything he’s hoped for. She’s not so pale, her lips are plump and pink, no scars left on her face, no bruising shadowing her skin. Her skin is tinted with a shimmering, golden glow. A color he’s familiar with seeing around her now.

He smiles at her and the shy little thing she gives him in return makes his  heart stutter. 

“Your father thinks everyone is a git, apparently,” Hermione whispers to Hugo and ruffles his hair. 

“Mum!” Rosie jumps up from her spot on the floor. Three more heads pop up with her and each call out, “Hermione!” 

Harry is the last to rouse. 

“Hermione!” He launches himself forward and wraps his arms around her. Draco’s too slow to pull him back and she makes an  _ oof _ sound. “Sorry, sorry. It’s just – Merlin, you’re glowing!”

Subtle, Boy Wonder. 

“I’m fine, Harry. We’ll chat  _ later _ .” She nods her head toward the children, who all circle her bed. 

Harry’s lips are on hers and a surprised gasp leaves her. Not to be one to be left out, and not using his head  _ at all _ , Draco leans forward and presses his lips to hers once Potter pulls away. She gasps again and the children are giggling. But it’s when Potter presses his lips to Draco’s that the room is utterly silent. They back away from one another slowly, Draco unable to keep the curl off his lips. 

“Erm.” Hugo glances between them and Draco slowly brings his gaze to the little redhead. So much rests on this moment and Draco’s stomach is slick with worry all of a sudden. “Does this… mean I have three dads now?” 

The three adults in the room all laugh at the blunt little boy’s question, but it’s Draco that pushes himself onto the edge of the bed and faces Hugo and his question head on. 

  
“Is that okay?” The question is serious, even though he’s wearing a wide grin on his face. “Would you allow us to be your family?” 

Hugo chews his lip, a habit that Draco knows is passed along by his mother, and then looks over to Hermione with wide, hopeful eyes. 

“Can they, mum?” Hugo asks so kindly and Draco’s chest tightens. 

Harry’s hand is suddenly in his as Hermione nods her head with a tired smile on her face. Hugo bounces next to her and no one has the heart to ask him to stop. He leaps over Hermione’s legs and wrap his arms around Draco’s torso. 

“Wicked!” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh gosh! One more and maybe an epilogue left!! I can hardly stand it, I’m so emotional. Thank you, again and still, for all your comments and theories and kudos. <3


	28. Paid in Full

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I mentioned there may be an epilogue, so I want to warn everyone up front that this is the last chapter — no epilogue to come after. <3

**—One Month Later—**

She still hurts in places she can’t name. If she moves a certain way, coughs too hard, or tries to use too much magic in one go, the ache deep in her muscles can stop Hermione dead in her tracks. There are things that make up for it, though. Watching Draco wrestle with five hyperactive and insatiable Potter-Weasley-Malfoy children—usually to be outnumbered and outwitted—is a highlight of her evenings when everyone is home. 

Home. It’s come to mean something entirely different to her than it did only months ago. When Harry works late nights, she snuggles up to Draco in their bed and falls asleep peacefully still. When Draco is in a mood over some devious ploy by his father in the board room, Hermione curls up with Harry on the sofa and draws incomprehensible patterns on Draco’s back while he works late into the night to undermine his father’s influence. They’re a unit, all eight of them, and the home they’ve built not only harbors their family, but their memories as well. 

It’s over coffee that she reminisces about how far they’ve come, what they’ve fought for in order to get here, to this moment. Her own past flits through her thoughts—Ron, and everything he took from her, Harry and Draco, and everything they gave to her. It’s almost like a full circle; the Hermione Granger after The War returned and she’s evolved in a way that promises she’ll never be the naïve girl she was before. 

“Children still asleep?” Harry yawns as he enters the dining room. His hair sticks up all over the place and the stubble on his face has grown far too long for her liking. Less shadow, more beard. She makes a face as he runs his hands over it and he smirks at her expression. “You’re the one who told me not to shave it, love. You can’t have it both ways.” 

“Liar!” Hermione indignantly huffs into her coffee and kicks a chair out across from her for Harry to fall into. “What I said was, ‘you look like a child with no hair on your face’. I didn’t ask you to grow out a full beard in an attempt to be Father Christmas by winter.” 

Harry shrugs his shoulders with the hint of a laugh rumbling in his voice. “It’s not even long enough for Rose to braid. Or, don’t you remember the way she tried to tug the hair from my cheek when she tried?” 

“The least you could do is trim it, Potter.” Hermione grabs the wand at her side and whips it above her head, silently summoning Harry a cup of coffee. The fact that it splashes at him when it lands is entirely by cosmic, karmic accident. 

He sips at the black liquid and pulls a face. “Now he’s got you calling me Potter.”

“Don’t you dare—” Draco slips into the dining room and summons his own coffee. He bends to give Harry a kiss on the temple and then mimics the same action with Hermione. “I can see it in your eyes, Potter, and if you—”

“Maybe a beard is the only way I’m ever going to be  _ hairy _ again.” 

The grin on his face is wide and ridiculous. Hermione snorts into her mug and Draco rolls his eyes dramatically. 

“Very clever, Boy Wonder.” 

A comfortable silence overtakes them. It’s something Hermione appreciates more than anything else. She’s not made to be busy, not forced into small talk. Sitting between her two paramours is as magical as the other activities they get up to when the house is otherwise empty and quiet. Hermione allows them to wake and when she’s sure they’ve made it through at least their first cup of coffee, she clears her throat and stands from the table to present the idea she’s been working on for ages. 

“I have something I want to talk to you both about.” She chews the corner of her bottom lip and watches Draco eye the habit with darkening gray eyes. The skin pops from between her teeth and Hermione offers him a small, apologetic smile. “It’s—I don’t know if you’re going to like it.” 

Draco’s shoulders are tense. Harry’s eyes follow her pacing nervously around the dining room. She glances at them as she organizes her thoughts. She can do this, has practiced it for days. Ever since their overprotective concerns faded away and Hermione realized she needed something more, something worthwhile, something  _ hers _ . 

“I’m going to cast a full body bind in a second, Hermione,” Harry warns her with a tight smile. His hands wrap around his coffee and she watches him share a look with Draco. 

“I want to go back to work.” 

The words hang in the silence that follows and Hermione fidgets nervously with her fingers while the speed of her pacing increases. She can’t look at them, can barely breathe at the thought that they’d hate the idea and ask her to remain home as the caretaker of their horde of children. 

“Brilliant!” 

It’s Harry that breaks through the quiet. He’s standing just in front of her within second and scoops her into a crushing hug. She winces, still sore around the middle at time, but wraps her arms around his neck and breathes a shaky, relieved laugh into his ear. 

“You think so?” Her hands press his shoulders back so she can look into his brilliant, proud green eyes. “You really think it’s a good idea?” 

“I’ve been waiting for you to spit it out for ages, Hermione, really,” he tells her excitedly, so earnestly Harry that it almost makes her snort through her nose. “You’ve had that look in your eye for weeks now, ever since—”

“What is it that you want to do?” Draco hasn’t moved, has merely sipped at what’s left of his coffee, and watches the other two hold onto each other lovingly. 

Harry’s hand squeezes hers, out of solidarity or to give her strength, she’s not sure. Hermione gnaws on her lip again and takes a sharp breath through her nose. Draco rises from the table as if in slow motion and she closes her eyes to garner strength. 

“Why are you worried?” Draco’s fingers glide along her jaw as he towers over her. He’s gentle, his tone light, as he catches her gaze from above. “I can feel it—right here.” 

The palm of his hand rests just over the soul mark on her chest. It thrums under his touch, almost sings at the contact. She feels Harry shift next to her and the thrill that engulfs him shoots up her spine. It still takes some getting used to, all these new sensations and experiencing the reactions and emotions of the two men who crowd her now. 

“I know you wanted to give me a place at Malfoy Consulting,” she whispers as he plucks her lip from between her teeth. His thumb remains behind and he swipes gently across her bottom lip. “But I was thinking—“

“Salazar’s snake, Hermione, don’t tell me you want to be an auror.” Draco’s eyes are considerably darker now as they dart to Harry. 

“Oh, heavens no, Draco!” She laughs and then adds, “Sorry, Harry, not that being an auror isn’t a fantastic job and entirely noble—no, Draco, not an auror. It’s not for me, I’m afraid.” 

“Thank Merlin.” And while she thought that it would be Draco’s reaction, it’s actually Harry who sighs with relief beside her. “ _ Not _ that I don’t believe you would be wonderful, of course, love, it’s just—“

“I’d make a shite auror.” She lets him off the hook because she knows that they worry. “However, I’d make an excellent Unspeakable.” 

“An Unspeak—” Harry breathes out the word. 

Hermione’s not worried about him, though. Her eyes seek out Draco who is staring down at her once again, but instead of a serious, nervous frown tugging his lips as she expects to find, instead there’s a brilliant, full smile on his face. 

“Yeah?” She asks him, not bothered that he hadn’t uttered a single word of support. She can  _ feel _ it. 

“Yeah.” 

His lips are on hers, pressing against them as he walks her backwards into the wall. Draco’s fingers curl into her hair and tilt her head back and then his tongue is in her mouth and they’re deepening the kiss and she’s on  _ fire _ . It’s scorching and her breaths are getting stuck in her throat even as she breaks apart from his lips to chug oxygen into her lungs. His lips find her pulse, just below her jaw, and pepper her skin with open-mouthed kisses. 

“Harry—” his name is ripped from between her lips on the breathiest of sighs. She reaches for him with one hand and when he finally comes to her, she wraps his shirt in her hand and drags him forward. 

Their mouths meet, softer than her kiss with Draco. His hand slides up her side and curls against her ribcage. It isn’t until a soft ‘mum’ filters through the house that the three of them break apart, shallow breathing the only sound in the dining room.    
  


**—One Month Later—**

“You need to have patience, love.” Harry smooths a wild curl behind her ear. “Kingsley gave you his word that he’d talk to Saul Croaker. You’re a shoe in for the program.” 

She sighs and shifts on his lap. The pains she’s been feeling for nearly two months are finally starting to dissipate completely, but after the experimentation they did in the bedroom the night before, her arse is sore. 

“Croaker doesn’t like me, Harry.” Hermione runs her fingers through the flyaway hair atop his head and frowns. “He made it very clear that he thinks I’d be a hindrance to the Department of Mysteries.” 

“That’s not what he said,” Harry reminds her gently, a crooked smile tugging at his lips. “Draco, tell her.” 

Draco’s hands are on her feet, thumbs digging into the flesh between the heel and the ball. It was her first time in heels in so long and her feet ached. No amount of cushioning charm could take away the soreness of breaking in a pair of shoes by walking through The Ministry of Magic for hours. He smiles when she groans, and Hermione can feel Harry’s immediate reaction pressing against the back of her thigh. 

“Croaker is annoyed that the Malfoy name is so heavily involved,” he promises her, eyes not leaving hers as he continues to apply pressure to her foot. “Malfoy Consulting is funding your work and it makes the Ministry uneasy.” 

“They wouldn’t have funded my research otherwise! You were already funding it before I sought a job with the Unspeakables. Padma said—”

Harry pats her shoulder. “We know, love. It’s not you. There’s a lot going on politically and no one quite knows what  _ this _ means.” 

  
“But that’s what we’re trying to figure out!” She yanks her foot out of Draco’s hand and gently eases herself off of Harry’s lap. “We have the orb, we have the books, the intimate knowledge, and there are so many triads out there and we’re the only ones with this!” 

She wrenches her shirt down to show The Valknut on her chest. It still gleams gold, an ethereal crackling around its outline. It hasn’t been the same since Rabastan—that day. But then, neither has she. Hermione grabs her wand from her pocket and places the tip of it against her cheek. A glamour falls away and in its wake, her complexion morphs completely. She’s covered in every visible slice of skin, in a golden glow. It never leaves her, never fades. 

“Hermione—” Draco stands from the sofa, a strict, fierce look staring back at her. “Kinglsey will pull through for us. He still feels guilty about—everything.” 

“Andromeda doesn’t know anything about this. Amadeus and his paramours don’t have a soul mark, either. We don’t know anything about what’s happening.” 

She’s panicking. Breaths are leaving her in sharp little gasps. Her chest heaves under the strain and her hands shake as she tries to fiddle with rogue curls at the nape of her neck. She’s already been so different from the rest of the wizarding world; a muggleborn, the brightest witch, the underutilized housewife, one third of a trio. And now she has to be this… this, which no one can explain. 

“Hey, hey, hey.” Harry is behind her and his hands massage at her shoulders. His voice is soft and in her ear, a calming presence despite the anxiety that stabs at her stomach. “We know that it’s not dangerous, yeah? We know that it’s magic and that it makes us stronger. If Croaker says that he won’t have you as an Unspeakable, you can do research for Malfoy Consulting Group.” 

“I don’t want to do research under Lucius Malfoy!” She shakes Harry’s hands off of her just as Draco stands in front of her. Her eyes narrow. “Imagine your father with his hands on all of this, Draco!”   
  
“She’s not wrong, Potter.” Draco’s eyes flit past hers and land on Harry. 

“Back to Potter again.” Harry sighs. “Okay, fine. I’ll remind Kingsley how important this is. Perhaps if we had a petition or something, from other triads or interested parties?” 

“A petition to allow me to research with the Unspeakables?” Hermione lifts a brow and crosses her arms over her chest even while Draco is trying to coax her hands free. She’s having none of it. “That seems counter-intuitive. Unspeakables are supposed to be mysterious. No one is supposed to know what they work on.” 

“Is there no winning this argument?” Harry asks, a notch between his brow furrowed in such consternation that it’s almost not there at all. 

She thinks Draco is chuckling under his breath, but she doesn’t have a chance to scold him for it – nor Harry for his flippant attitude about something that so greatly affects their lives – because Draco’s lips descend onto hers and they’re lost in the feel of hands touching, lips kissing, and breaths tickling. 

“We’ll worry about it later,” Draco whispers into her ear as Harry scoops up her curls and moves them to one side. Draco’s lips move down the column of her neck, over her collarbone, and linger over the braille-like scar of her Valknut. 

It takes only minutes for all three of them to forget what they were about to argue over, and Hermione is infinitely glad that Andromeda offered to host the children overnight.    
  


**—One Month Later—**

The green flame of the floo bursts to life before her. A mop of red hair flies through the grate and nearly tackles her to the ground. 

“Mummy!” Hugo grips her legs hard and bounces up and down. “I missed you, mummy! Draco, Harry, did you know that brooms can go upside down!” 

Her excitable ball of energy flings himself toward the two men standing at her side. They take turns greeting him and hugging him and entertaining the kilometer-a-minute words as they rush from his mouth. 

Next through the floo is Rose, a small smile on her face as she grips tightly to a new book. Hermione hugs her around the shoulders and holds her close as the third body emerges from within the flames. 

It’s still not easy to be in a room with him. He’s an imposing figure, tall and broad, with a sour expression as he fills the room with his gangly body. When Ron takes a step into the room, it’s still hard for Hermione not to take a step back. But she’s getting better, especially with Draco and Harry by her side. 

“Hullo,” he says quietly, eyes barely able to meet hers. His hand rises and fingers dip in greeting before he glances to each of his children and swallows so thickly that she can see his throat bob. “I’ll see you lot next weekend? We’ll go to the joke shop and see Uncle George.” 

“Yes!” Hugo pumps his fist in the air. 

“Actually, Ron.” Hermione’s fingers tighten minutely against Rose’s jumper and she feigns a smile as if to appear pleasant and strong. “I’d like to keep the children next weekend. We’re planning a trip the Magizoo and since I’ve started working in the Department of Mysteries, I only have the weekends to spare.” 

“But—” A scowl forms on his face as it heats up under an angry flush. 

Draco stirs at her side and Harry’s chest knocks against her shoulder. Things have been tense with Ron and they haven’t allowed him to be in a room alone with her since Rabastan Imperioused him, but she can’t allow them to protect her any longer. Hermione needs to show them that she’s capable of protecting herself. She speaks up before they can act. 

“It isn’t a negotiation, Ron.” Hermione smiles, determined to keep the atmosphere pleasant even if it’s fake. “Please arrange your plans with the children accordingly.” 

He glares at her. “Fine.”

“Excellent, thank you.” Hermione grins, knowing she’s pushing her luck but unwilling to back down. “Now children, would you like to join James, Albus, and Scorpius in the playroom? I daresay they’ve missed you for the past two days.” 

Before Hermione can say goodbye to Ron, he’s gone with a whoosh of the floo. A part of her feels freer now, a loosening of knots inside her stomach. 

“I’m going to show Albus just how many flips I can do on my broom and—”

“No brooms in the house,” Draco reminds the spitfire redhead as he rounds the corner running as fast as his little legs can take him. All he gets in response is an “Aw, man!” 

 

**—One Month Later—**

“Technically, I’m still training.” It’s the third time she’s had to tell them this in as many days. But, they insisted on celebrating anyway. “I won’t be a full-fledge Unspeakable for another six months at least, this is just a small step—”

“Hermione, love, you’re underestimating your achievement.” Harry raises his hand in the air, curls his fingers, and signals for a drink. “At least let us enjoy a night without the children and celebrate the success you had today.” 

“It wasn’t really my success, though.” She peers over at Draco who is sipping on a tumbler of whisky with a small, proud smile on his face. “Draco, maybe you should explain to Harry what it is you’ve done.” 

“I still maintain that I’ve done nothing.” Draco shrugs and catches the new drinks as they soar through the air towards their table. 

Hermione peeks up and mouths a thank you to Amadeus as he wipes at a dirty space on the bar top. She hopes Harry’s tipping him well. Rumor has it that his wife is pregnant and she’s sure he can use all the spare galleons he can find. 

“That’s not true, Draco.” Hermione brings her attention back to him and grins as his hand finds the top of her thigh underneath the table. “Croaker specifically said that you demanded—”

“Requested.” 

“Fine. That you  _ requested _ my attention to the study of triad magic and magical influence.” Hermione finishes her drink and knocks her shoulder against his. “You can’t deny that you have a bit of authority over how the money from Malfoy Consulting Group is spent.” 

“I wouldn’t presume to inform the Ministry how to spend—”

“Pardon me?” Harry interrupts with high eyebrows and his drink held just an inch from his lips. “Wouldn’t presume to—do you remember what it is your father implied we do with Rabastan Lestrange after he learned of his attempt on Hermione’s life?” 

Draco sighs and rolls his eyes. “You’re being dramatic, Potter. My father believes that it’s improper to challenge the mortality of a future Dark Lord and—”

“Are you seriously allowing your father to believe that we are some dark trio, destined to subjugate all of wizard kind and—”

“He’s more comfortable with us that way,” Draco says, nodding his head. “Can you imagine how insufferable dinner would be on Sunday if he believes we’re  _ only _ a triad because it makes us  _ happy _ ?” 

“Everyone else is getting over it.” Hermione argues before slipping her fingers to the bottom of Draco’s glass and tipping the contents into his mouth. “We don’t even have  _ one _ journalist here to cover our night of debauchery.” 

“A step forward.” Harry holds his glass out and tips it towards them before tossing back the amber liquid with a hiss. 

“Bollocks to that.” Draco knocks his glass against the table and wipes the corner of his mouth with the pads of his fingers. “To debauchery.” 

His grip around Hermione’s wrist is tight as he pulls her from the table and out the door. Harry is on their heels. She’s not even able to enjoy the balmy weather of early summer before she’s wrapped in their embrace and apparated from the spot. 

They land with a loud  _ crack _ in the den of their home and she’s immediately crushed between their bodies. Harry moves her hair over her left shoulder and Draco takes her mouth against his. Harry’s lips attach to the sensitive spot of flesh south of her earlobe. 

“Do you know what the worst thing is about you going back to work?” Draco whispers as his mouth leaves hers to kiss down the length of her neck and up again. She feels him meet Harry’s lips against her skin and it sends shivers cascading through her nerves. 

“What?” She asks breathlessly. 

“We never got to play naughty nanny and the overworked-single dad.” He pulls away from her neck and from Harry and he’s staring down the length of his nose into her eyes. “Seems a shame to waste such a perfect opportunity.” 

Harry is hard against her bottom and she grinds backwards to let him know she feels him there. Her hands run up the outside of Draco’s thigh and end over the bulge in his trousers. She squeezes it gently and smiles at the way his lips part over a heavy breath. 

“Unforgivable,” she whispers, leaning in to kiss the corner of his mouth before she shoves him away and onto the sofa. 

Draco stumbles back and can’t catch his fall. He’s planted on the furniture and his pupils are blown wide as he watches her approach. Their magics are sparking, a slight buzzing noise fills the room that she wouldn’t have heard had she not been listening for it. She’s so in tune to what their magic does now; the feel of it inside and out is unlike anything she’d ever experienced. 

“Remove your glamour.” Harry’s behind her, still so close, and as she does what he says, he groans with his lips pressed against her neck. “It’s so sexy to see you like this. I wish you wouldn’t hide it.” 

“We’re not playing triad now, Potter. Let the naughty nanny make the overworked single dad feel better.” Draco loosens his tie. 

  
“Well, what am I to do while the naughty nanny makes the over—you know, this is ridiculous.” Harry’s warmth is further away, but his hands are still holding onto her hips. She can feel his annoyance at Draco, can practically imagine the way his eyes narrow the slightest bit and brow raises pointedly over one eye. 

“It’s not ridiculous if you’re  _ also _ an overworked single dad.” Draco’s lips twitch and he doesn’t pull his gaze from Hermione. 

“Right.” Harry’s word is barely a breath and then he’s sitting next shirtless next to Draco on the sofa. “I’m also an overworked single dad and, er, need to feel better.” 

The ridiculous pout of his lips makes her snort. Harry winks at her and Draco rolls his eyes. 

“You’re ruining the entire role play, Potter.” 

“Sorry, love.” Harry motions over his lips like he’s zipping them up. 

“Lovely, thank you. Hermione, you’re up.” Draco slips his shoes off and kicks them to the side. 

They’ve never done role play, so she’s not sure what they’re looking for. Naughty nanny – she’d roll her eyes if Draco wasn’t currently expecting each of them to play a very specific role in his sudden fantasy. So, she steadies her breathing and squares her shoulders. She can do this – she can be the naughty nanny to Draco and Harry’s overworked single dad. 

“Oh, Mister Malfoy.” Hermione quirks her lips and places her fingers against the top button of her blouse. “You look so tired, sir. Is there anything that I can do to make you feel better?” 

She bats her eyelashes, an exaggerated motion, and plucks several buttons of her blouse so that it flutters open and exposes her breasts and stomach. There’s fire in the mark on her chest and she knows he’s enjoying the show even if she feels silly putting it on. 

“Why don’t you remove the rest of your clothes,” he suggests with a throaty voice. She watches as he pops the buttons on his shirt open. 

She does as he suggests, slowly removing each article of clothing and tossing it to the floor behind her until she’s standing in nothing. Heat rushes to her face as both of them take all of her in. It’s not new; they’ve seen her naked many times, but it never gets old to have their dedicated focus on every curve and dip of her body. Hermione turns around in a circle to give them a good look at every part of her and then chews her lip as she faces them again. 

“Are you feeling better, Mister Malfoy?” She’s winded when her eyes meet his again and Draco’s irises are consumed in black. “Mister Potter, what can I do to make you feel better?” 

“You—” Harry chokes around his words and clears his throat. “Why don’t you come here and help me remove my clothes?” 

Draco, by his side, is already divesting every piece of clothing he’s wearing. Hermione walks to Harry with a purposeful sway in her hips and drops to her knees when she reaches him. Her hands rest on his knees and then slowly run up the length of his thighs until she reaches the clasp of his trousers. 

“Mister Potter, your muscles are so tense! I should help you relax.” Hermione rips the trousers from Harry’s legs and he maneuvers around so that she can pull them clean off. He’s left only in his pants, but she has them removed in a beat. 

“Yes, please,” Harry croaks. He reaches a hand out and caresses a finger down the side of her face. “Please help me to relax, Miss Granger.” 

As her hand wraps around his erection, Hermione feels the sofa next to Harry dip. Draco stands behind her and runs his hands through her hair. She lowers her mouth onto Harry and hollows her cheeks, guided by Draco’s new grip at the roots of her hair. 

“Look at how good you are at making Mister Potter relax,” Draco whispers, slowly moving her over his stiffening length. 

It shouldn’t have the effect it does, but she can’t help but rub her thighs together to seek out friction. She moans around Harry and looks up to find him staring back at her with flushed cheeks and heavy-lidded eyes. 

“I don’t have the patience for role play.” Harry removes Draco’s hand from her curls and encourages her to sit on his lap. He rakes his hands over her thighs and she has only a beat to adjust before he’s sheathed inside of her and groaning her name through gritted teeth. “Whatever, you’re naughty, you were a nanny. It’s all very sexy. Now fuck me, please.” 

“Potter, you can’t just—” Draco growls behind her and steps closer, but his words are caught off by one look from Harry. “You’re the actual worst sometimes, you git.” 

Harry presses his lips so tight together that they pale. She moves experimentally over him, grinds down against his hips, and rises up only to drop back down quickly. “Just like that, Hermione, yes.” 

She moves with more confidence and drops her lips to his. Hermione’s lost in the feel of Harry inside of her and she doesn’t even feel the way that Draco is behind her, pressing her shoulders forward to Harry’s chest. It isn’t until he’s slowly working himself inside of her as well that she pauses her movements and squeezes her eyes shut. 

“If anyone is curious,” Draco grits out hoarsely, “this overworked single dad is still fucking the naughty nanny and I don’t care if you two play along.” 

Hermione opens her eyes and glances over her shoulder, her lips parted around a partial mewl and a breathy laugh. He’s situated fully inside of her now and she’s so filled with the both of them that she can hardly move over either of them. It’s not until Draco moves that Harry also moves beneath her and she moans without being able to stop herself. 

“Fuck me, Mister Malfoy,” she breathes out coquettishly. 

And so he does, with abandon. 

 

**—One Month Later—**

A small black sphere is perched just out of hands reach at the dining room table, where there are stacks of papers and books surrounding her space. The golden sheen of her skin is dull, but the orb is slowly gaining its swirling gold colors back. It’s taken her a month to figure out how to transfer her magic from herself to the orb, but now that she has, Hermione doesn’t have to wear a glamour at all times when she leaves the house. 

Seven bodies flood the dining room and take a seat at the once obnoxious, but now necessary, table. 

“It’s dinner time, Hermione,” Draco tells her just before Tink pops in with a tie-dyed hat on her head. “Work later?” 

She sighs and drops the quill she was using to take notes. 

“I have something for you, love.” Harry drops a kiss to the top of her head—to which James makes a retching ‘ew’ sound. 

Hermione takes the small envelope and turns it over in her hand. A note from her solicitor, with his imposing seal upon the back. 

“What is it, mum?” Rose plants herself in the seat next to Hermione and peers over to see what the letter says. 

“Are those our new pencil crayons?” Scorpius asks curiously, sitting on his knees to see over the expanse of the table. 

“Scorpius, that’s not how we sit at a table.” Draco lifts a brow at his son, who sighs and rearranges himself properly. When Hugo moves to sit up on his knees, Draco turns his gaze to him as well and Hugo pulls a face. “You’re children, not trolls.” 

“If I were a troll, I’d have a big club and I’d—”

Hermione shrieks, completely cutting off their conversation. She jumps from her seat and she wraps her hands firmly around Harry’s neck. 

“I can’t believe it!” Hermione bounces from foot to foot as Draco approaches and glances down at the note in her hand. He smiles, genuine and full, and allows her to pull him into a vice like hug around the neck. 

“Well done, love,” Draco whispers, pecking her on the cheek softly. 

“You’ve done brilliantly, Hermione.” Harry wraps an arm around Draco’s shoulder and kisses him on the side of the head. She barely hears him mutter to Draco. “We’re going to need an advanced silencing charm tonight.” 

Hermione snaps her hand forward and playfully hits Draco on the arm. The letter jumps from her hand and flutters down to the table. In simple script and a note addressed to Hermione Jean Granger, the words stare back at her: 

_ Fourteen thousand galleons — PAID IN FULL. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I cannot believe that this is the end of the story. For six months, I’ve poured so much into it and I am beyond emotional as I close this final chapter to Fourteen Thousand Galleons. Thank you to everyone who read, to those who commented and reviewed, those who recommended the stories on their blogs and in their groups, to the readers who have been with me from the beginning and the new readers who just started binging this story recently. I appreciate all of you and I cannot tell you enough how you’ve lifted my spirits over the past six months. 
> 
> What comes next? I am planning and have started to write a Dramione chaptered fic that will be a tad darker than this. I anticipate starting to post it in April, so please check back and join me for that adventure if you’re so inclined. Between now and then, I have several fest pieces to write and reveal, so stay tuned! And there is a small, small chance that I’ve got a plot bunny for an FTG sequel, because I want to explore Hermione’s life as an Unspeakable researching triad magic/magical influence... but that might not happen until later in the year. 
> 
> For updates, you can subscribe here or follow me on Tumblr (Frumpologist). 
> 
> Thank you, again, for all you’ve done – every single one of you.   
> <3  
> Jessi

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to my wonderful friend and alpha/beta Pronunciation_Hermy_One. You are my favorite and I love you! <3


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